Bedroom Hymns
by Gefionne
Summary: Hawke, as Champion of Kirkwall, will do anything to protect her city, even marry Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven. However, her new husband's many years in the Chantry have left him quite cold in the bedchamber. Unhappy and unsatisfied, Hawke sets out to seduce him. When his reserve is broken, they begin to grow closer and, in time, Hawke falls for him.
1. Chapter 1

**Bedroom Hymns**

When she agreed to marry, Hawke had known the match was made only to secure coin to aid Kirkwall. She was the city's champion and if it was within her power to ensure its people would not starve and its Chantry could be rebuilt, she would give whatever was required, even if it was her life.

"A treaty will only go so far," Viscount Bran had said to her in the stifling heat of a summer afternoon audience several months before. "What we need is a true union between Kirkwall and Starkhaven. The prince has been on the throne for nearly a year now, and he will soon need to marry."

"What a fine idea, messere," said Hawke, resting one hand on the pommel of her sword. "You'd look lovely in a gown."

Bran had laughed, but his eyes flashed darkly. "Ever the jester, Champion. I am certain you will never cease to amuse the members of Prince Vael's court."

"Me?" she said, brows rising. "You want _me_ to wed Sebastian?"

"I can think of no one better."

"No one better to rid yourself of," she said, scowling. It was no secret that the new viscount did not think much of her or the company she kept. He was tolerant, at best, of her role in the city.

"I would not endeavor to send Kirkwall's champion away without good cause."

Hawke crossed her arms over her chest. "How much gold are you going to sell me for, then?"

He smiled slyly. "Enough to remake the Chantry twice over."

"Right," she sighed.

Kirkwall's coffers had been left all but empty by Knight-Commander Meredith and the viscount that preceded her. The city had hands enough to construct a new Chantry and repair the damage wrought during the rebellion, but what it lacked was the gold to pay for it.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hawke asked, "Did Sebastian suggest this?"

"The idea was mine," said Bran, "but there was no objection from the prince when I proposed it. He did insist, though, that you accept willingly. I assured him you would be in agreement once you knew how it would serve Kirkwall."

Hawke nodded. Though she disliked the viscount's presumptuousness, he was not wrong; she would do anything to protect her city, even marry Sebastian Vael.

So, she had agreed to it.

She left the management of her estate to Bodahn and Orana, instructing them to keep the place up as they liked for as long as they wanted to stay. They were to keep the doors open, as Bethany passed through from time and time and would always be looking for a hot meal. The life of a Grey Warden was not an easy one.

Aveline and her husband Donnic had a house of their own near the barracks of the guard, but Hawke had told them that they were welcome to hers if they wanted it. Aveline, of course, turned her down. She embraced Hawke and wished her well, reminding her that she would always have friends to visit in Kirkwall if Starkhaven grew dull.

"Not that anything that you're mixed up in is ever dull, Hawke," she had added.

Isabela had long since gone to sea and, to no one's surprise, Fenris had gone with her. Hawke left a letter for them for the next time they came into port.

In the fortnight before she departed, she spent several long evenings with Merrill in the alienage.

"You'll be a princess," said the elf on one of these nights. "What will that be like?"

"You know," said Hawke as she sipped a cup of lemon tea, "I haven't the slightest idea."  
Merrill's eyes had widened. "Are you afraid?"

"A little," she replied with a half-shrug. It was perhaps not proper fear, but it had been eight years since she had left Kirkwall, and she had never been farther inland than Sundermount. She was uncertain what her journey to Starkhaven would hold.

"I would be, too," said Merrill. "Though, at least Sebastian will be there with you. You won't be alone."

Hawke had smiled wanly. It was true enough. Sebastian would be with her, though no longer as the man with whom she shared the battlefield. Instead she would share his bed.

The thought of lying with him had passed through her mind before, though she had never spoken of it to anyone, not even Isabela. Sebastian had sworn himself to the Maker, and even if Hawke was not the most devout of women, she had respected his vows. Imagining that it was him above her—or under her—while she was abed with another always made her feel as though she was trespassing on something sacrosanct: guilty and depraved, but also excited at venturing somewhere forbidden.

She had expected the infatuation to pass with the years, yet somehow it had stayed with her, lingering at the back of her mind and waiting to spring to the fore when she least expected it: watching Sebastian's long fingers as he fletched an arrow, seeing him smile when he saw her arriving in the Chantry, hearing him recite the Chant of Light.

"' _With passion'd breath does the darkness creep_ ,'" he would intone. "' _It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep._ '"

 _Transfigurations_ had no right to sound sensual, but on his lips it did. Hawke had tried to avoid admitting it, but more than once she had sat in on one of his sermons only to listen to his voice.

When she had told Varric of her impending nuptials, he had not believed her. He had laughed and demanded to know how much she had been paid to say it. When she had convinced him, though, he had taken her hand and asked, "Are you sure about this, Hawke? I like Choir Boy as much as the next dwarf, but _marriage_?"

"We need this alliance," she had replied.

"I know, I know, but will he…well, will he make you happy?"

She smiled down at him. "Doesn't every Ferelden farm girl fancy marrying a prince?"

"Damn it, Hawke, be serious for once!"

"Varric," she said, squeezing his fingers, "I came to Kirkwall with nothing, not even the Amell name my mother once bore. I was a Hawke, and I didn't have two coppers to rub together. This city gave me everything I have. I can't turn my back on it now."

"Kirkwall doesn't give anyone anything," Varric grumbled. "You _took_ what you have. You earned it with your sword and your wits. You put down a damned rebellion. Haven't you done enough without selling the rest of your life to Starkhaven?"

"It's only a week's ride from here," she said. "And I won't be a prisoner. Sebastian Vael may be many things, but he's not a jailor."

"How do you know that?" asked Varric. "Power changes people, Hawke. Brother Sebastian is gone. He's Prince Vael now."

"Maybe you're right," she sighed, "and maybe you're not. I'll find out when I see him again."

Varric rubbed a hand across his face. "Do you at least have some time before the wedding to talk about this whole thing? Maybe exchange some poems, flowers?"

"Not all marriages are about love," Hawke said. "My parents were lucky. This is…not like that."

"Of all people," he said, shaking his head, "I never expected you to play politics like this."

"Believe me, neither did I. I'm just a nobody from Lothering, but here I am about to marry to prince."

"Better get used to it then, your highness."

She threw a paperweight at him. "Don't you dare call me that, Varric Tethras!"

* * *

"Is that all you're taking?" Bran had asked when his carriage had arrived outside of the Hawke estate to collect her things for the journey. He was looking at the single wooden chest on the ground at her feet. In it were a few changes of clothes, including the only dress she owned, her armor, and one of Varric's books. Her sword was hanging at her waist, her shield strapped to her back.

"It's all I need," she replied.

Bran did not look pleased, but gestured for his footmen to take the trunk and lash it to the back of the carriage. They were traveling together so that he could present her like a finely wrapped gift to Sebastian and his court. Though Hawke had little love for the viscount, she had been glad not to make the journey alone.

It took eight days, though one of those was spent stuck in the mired road after a long rainstorm. Hawke had done what she could to help the footmen push the carriage on, but they had only succeeded in getting it up onto the grass beside the road. They had camped there that night, and Bran had whined for an inn throughout it.

The worst of the rains had stopped by the time they arrived in Starkhaven, though a fine mist still fell from the leaden skies. They had spent the night before in a small guesthouse and Hawke had thankfully had the chance to wash the road's filth from her skin and hair. She donned the red velvet dress that had once belonged to her month and, surveying herself in a looking glass, decided she looked well. However, when she stepped out of the carriage at the grand entrance to the palace and saw Sebastian, she had never felt shabbier in her life.

Gone was the lacquered white armor and chainmail he had often worn when she had last seen him. In its place were breeches of doeskin, dark leather boots that shone even in the half light of the day, and a doublet of green slashed with gold. A yellow cloak lined with black fox fur hung from his shoulders, and he wore a long knife with a jeweled hilt at his hip. His auburn hair was still cropped short, but atop it now sat a coronet of gold.

"Hawke," he said as he took her hand. "It's good to see you."

* * *

The wedding was held a fortnight later in the grandest and largest Chantry she had ever seen. She had been fitted for a dress as white as Ferelden winter snows and finer than any she had worn in her life. The satin and silk had felt strange on her skin as she held Sebastian's hands before the altar of Andraste. They pledged honor and affection, fidelity and deference to both each other and to the Maker. They sealed their promises with a single kiss, brief and chaste.

The ceremony was followed by a lavish banquet. Toasts were given and ballads sung in their honor. It all seemed like an elaborate trick of the Fade until one of the nobles addressed her not by the name she had borne all her life—Hawke—but by the one she now shared with Sebastian.

"To Lady Vael, Princess of Starkhaven," he said, holding up his wineglass. "May the Maker bless and guard you."

She had forced a smile as she thanked him, drinking deeply from her own cup.

When she retired from the feast that night, she found that her things—few as they were—had been moved from the guest room where she had been staying to the large chamber adjacent to Sebastian's.

The slender elven girl who had dressed her for the wedding helped her to disrobe. Clad in only her shift, she had poured herself another glass of wine and waited.

When he entered her room, Sebastian came through the narrow door that connected his chamber to hers. He was wearing a linen nightshirt that hung nearly to his knees, its collar embroidered with sunbursts.

"Good evening," he had said, formal despite his state of undress.

"Hello," Hawke replied. "Would you like some wine?"

He shook his head, but then, seemingly thinking the better of it, said, "Actually, yes." Taking the cup she offered him, he drank it all down.

The corners of her mouth turned up as she filled her cup and held it out. "More?"

"No, thank you. If I do I might fall asleep."

"You're welcome to the bed," said Hawke.

"I…ah, well," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck.

She resisted the urge to laugh. When they had first met, he had offered her his service to thank her for killing the mercenaries that had slain his family. Unware then of his vow of chastity, she had teased him by replying with: "I can think of a few services for you to perform." He had blushed crimson and muttered something about praying.

To look at him now, it seemed that little had changed in the year since he had left the Chantry.

"I'm sorry," she said as she made her way over to him. "I shouldn't joke."

"You always have," said Sebastian. "It's a bit disarming, coming from someone who used to make her living as a bounty hunter."

Tracing the embroidery on his collar with her forefinger, she said, "As I recall, you earned more than a little coin from those bounties as well. Though I assume you gave it all to the poor."

He swallowed audibly as her fingers brushed the skin of his neck. "I-I did, yes."

Her head pleasantly muddled by the wine, Hawke looked him over. He had looked every inch the prince when she had seen him waiting for her before the altar: tall and handsome, his shoulders back and his head held high. Even as he stood before her now in his foolish nightshirt, he was beautiful. Though it was still strange to think of him as her husband, there was no mistaking that she wanted him. What was a wedding, after all, without a bedding to match?

Taking his face in her hands, Hawke kissed him. He tensed as she touched him, his lips remaining still under hers.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, drawing back.

He looked down, his cheeks aflame. "No, but…"

"Would you prefer to talk some more? There's no need to rush. We have all night."

"I—no. It's our duty."

Hawke's brows rose. "I suppose it is, but we can wait if you like."

Sebastian shook his head. "I'd rather not."

"Oh. Then come with me." Taking his hand, she led him over the bed. She sat, pulling him down next to her. He was trembling.

"Sebastian, are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine. Should we not put the candles out?"

"I can't see you in the dark," she said as she raised her fingers to his cheek.

He shied away, getting to his feet again. "The light of the fire should be enough," he muttered, snuffing out the candles as he moved about the room.

Hawke watched him, puzzled. It was clear he was uneasy, but as far as she recalled, he had led an indulgent life before he entered the Chantry. He had been with women before, hadn't he?

Once the candles were extinguished, he took a few slow steps back toward the bed. His face was shadowed against the light of the flames in the hearth behind him. The room was dim, but Hawke knew that he could see her better than she could him. Reaching down, she took hold of the fabric of her shift.

"Don't," Sebastian said, taking her hands and pushing them down until the shift dropped to her ankles again.

"You want to wait after all," she said.

He shook his head. "I just…you should be clothed."

"What?" she asked, her brows knit. "If we're going to bed, I'd rather not be."

"To do anything else would be immodest," he said hurriedly. "It would shame us both in the eyes of the Maker."

Hawke fought to keep her expression impassive, though she wondered what in the Fade-touched world he was talking about.

"Will you at least come lie down?" she asked.

He nodded, climbing carefully onto the mattress.

Hawke sat back against the pillows beside him and took his hand. "There now," she said, trying to soothe him.

He looked at her with wide eyes, the muscles of this throat tightening as he swallowed. Then he was kissing her, his lips pressed hard against hers.

She made a startled sound, surprised by the abrupt assault on her mouth. Taking him by the shoulders, she pushed him back until he relinquished the kiss.

"Could you, perhaps, give me some warning next time?" she said.

"Yes, of course," he replied. "I'm…sorry."

She gave him a small smile. "It's all right. Let's just start a bit slower this time."

Sliding her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, she drew him to her. The kiss was gentler, though he was still taut as the bowstring under her hands. Hoping to coax him into touching her, Hawke lowered herself onto her back, bringing him with her.

He placed one hand on either side of her, his chest just above hers. She tried to draw him down, but he seemed determined to remain at a distance. So, she tried a different tactic. She trailed her tongue along his lower lip, aiming to deepen their kiss.

He opened his mouth more in surprise than passion, but Hawke took the opportunity to brush her tongue against his. She moved her hand down his chest, pulling his shirt up. Before she had even gotten it halfway off, though, his knee came down between her legs, parting them insistently. She made space for him by rucking up the hem of her shift.

Holding himself up with one hand, he reached the other down and grasped himself. He grimaced as he did it, as if it disgusted him. As he lowered his hips, Hawke realized that he meant to take her like that: tangled up in their nightshirts after only a few kisses.

"Wait," she tried to say. "I'm not ready. I—"

She winced as he entered her. Without even the slightest passionate touch between them, there was no warm wetness to ease him in. It was uncomfortable, if not painful.

He drew halfway out and then drove back into her. She cried out, though not in pleasure.

"Sebastian, please stop."

He seemed not to hear her, for he continued on for five, six more strokes until, making a strangled sound as he emptied himself inside of her, he collapsed against her chest.

Hawke lay in silence beneath him as he breathed heavily against her ear. Her limbs felt heavy and her head was beginning to ache. There was a stinging soreness between her legs.

Once he had regained his breath, Sebastian stirred, rolling away from her. He made sure, however, to cover himself again before smoothing her shift down over her legs.

"I'll leave you to sleep now," he said, moving to the edge of the bed. His quiet "goodnight" was all but lost in the closing of the door between their rooms.

When he was gone, Hawke rolled over onto her side and tried to keep from shaking.

* * *

After that night, he did not return to her bed for seven days. They spent time together during the daylight hours as he showed her through the streets and markets of Starkhaven, but after they had eaten their evening meal, she rarely saw him.

When he did come to her again, he wore the same nightshirt and refused to take it off, even when he was lying atop her. His kisses were brief and tasted of obligation rather than desire. As he slipped into her bed, he barely touched her, pushing her shift just above her hips to preserve her modesty. He took her quickly and with no preamble. He made it abundantly clear that he took no joy from it, save for in the final strokes, when no man, no matter how pious, could mask his pleasure.

At first, Hawke had tried to get him explore her body through the shift, but when she had pressed his hand to her breast, he had recoiled and left her without a word. The next time he came to her, she had tried to hold him close when he was inside her, but he remained propped up on his elbows, his face turned away.

Three long months passed in that manner, with him visiting her chambers each week for a brief coupling and then leaving her again. Though she did her best to remain indifferent, inside she was seething. She longed for the lovers she had had in Kirkwall, their practiced hands on her body, their hot mouths between her legs. She was certain that she could not stand another cold visit from her husband.

As summer faded into autumn, word of the harvest festival reached her. She was told that throughout the day, all of Starkhaven would be celebrating the bounty of the season with feasting and dancing. The prince's palace would be adorned with colorful ribbons, its tables groaning under the weight of the food and drink.

The more Hawke heard of it, the more pleasant it sounded. That was, of course, until she learned of the harvest bedding. Once night fell on the night of the festival, it was tradition that all the young couples who had wed that summer would be sent to away to bed and locked in their room until morning, in hopes that by spring they would be welcoming their first child.

"It's a provincial custom," said the matron with whom Hawke was sitting that afternoon. "Among the farmers' families in the countryside, newlyweds often live with their mothers and fathers. They are lucky to have a bed of their own, let alone one with any privacy. The night of harvest festival was meant to give them the chance to make love in peace, while the others drank and danced outside.

"Such measures are not necessary among the merchants and nobility, of course, but all of Starkhaven has been doing it for generations." She waggled her eyebrows. "Even the princes."

Hawke swallowed, hiding her face in her teacup. The brevity of Sebastian's visits to her bedchamber was what made them even somewhat bearable. To spend all night with him, locked away with no chance of escape until morning…it was worthy of the dread that pooled like hot lead in her stomach.

"Is there anything special you might like to have prepared for the night of the festival, your highness?" the matron asked her. "A silk shift, perhaps? Or maybe one of sumptuous velvet?"

"I…ah, no," Hawke managed to say.

The matron patted her hand. "Well, if you change your mind, do tell me. I can have anything ordered up from the markets."

Hawke tried to imagine the horrified look Sebastian would give her if she appeared in a silken shift that fell only to the tops of her thighs. He would run directly out again. Were it any other man coming to her that night, she would already be laying plans for their hours together, but Sebastian...

She looked down at the milky tea in her cup. The Chantry had made him a good ruler, an honest man, but it had crippled him as a husband. For fifteen years he had been told that those weak souls who partook in worldly pleasures—fleshly or otherwise—were damned to the Void, their spirits forever lost in the inescapable blackness beyond the hallowed kingdom of the Maker. Bedding, of course, was permissible for husbands and wives, but the Chantry dictated that it was to be conducted only for the purposes of making children and not out of sinful desire.

Once, Hawke had asked Sebastian why he would not look at her when they were in bed together.

"It would be impious, wanton," he had replied. "And wantonness is sin. It is the realm of whores or lechers. It has no place in the marriage bed."

She had hoped that in time he could be broken of his reserve, but it seemed all but hopeless. Unless...

Setting down her teacup, she smiled at the matron across the table from her. "On second thought," she said, "I think I might need something after all."

If Sebastian was going to be trapped with her all night, unable to run, she would not let it go to waste. She was going to seduce him.

* * *

In the weeks before the festival, Hawke began to plan, making careful preparations. She placed an order for a silk shift trimmed with lace. She arranged with the servants to have nearly a hundred candles brought up to her chamber on the night of the festivities. She tasted wines, selecting bottles of sweet red.

A proper seduction, however, was not confined to one night. In the days before the festival, she found small ways to touch Sebastian, whether it was taking his hand as they strolled through the market, brushing her fingers over his hair as they read together in the library, or purposefully standing with improper form during her archery lessons so that he would have to step up close behind her to correct the angle of her elbow or the tilt of her hips. She did nothing overt in the sight of others, but she smiled at him more and leaned into him as she rested her hand in the crook of his arm.

Not all of it was artifice, of course. Despite his coolness in the bedchamber, Sebastian was a good man and Hawke did like him. When they had been together in Kirkwall, he had offered her counsel as a brother of the faith when she was conflicted, heard her confessions, and led the prayers for her mother when she had died. He had lent his bow to her cause, standing by her side in battle. He had even said the Benediction of Parting as she slid her knife between Anders' ribs and into his heart on the day he betrayed them all.

As a prince, Sebastian was respected by his people, as he looked out not only for the interests of the noble families and wealthy merchants, but for those of the poor as well. Hawke enjoyed conversing with him; she always had. His comeliness did not hurt, either, especially when it came to the nightly ritual she had begun.

As she lay in her bed, she would wait until the quiet shuffling from his chamber had faded, when he was lying down for the night, but before sleep claimed him. Sliding her hand down between her thighs, she would imagine him taking her in all the ways his Maker forbid: standing against the wall, her legs around his waist; his auburn head between them as he took her with his mouth; him sprawled on his back as she sat astride his hips. As pleasure washed over her, she would cry out his name loudly enough to be heard through the door that separated their chambers.

On the nights that she knew he was coming to her, she would bring herself to release before he arrived, making sure that when he entered her room her cheeks were flushed and she was still slick when he pressed into her. She was careful to remain quiet as he had her, so as not to send him scurrying away, but it was clear that when he felt her wet around him it was more difficult for him to remain coldly dutiful.

When, at last, the day of the festival arrived, Hawke was ready for what was to come. She and Sebastian presided over the celebration in their halls, happily looking out over their people. She had grinned like a fool when during dinner he had reached over and taken her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

Just after the sun had set, the seneschal had gotten to his feet and raised his hands for silence. "My lords and ladies, the time has come for our prince and princess to retire. Your highnesses, I raise my glass to you. May you richly enjoy the night."

The color had drained from Sebastian's face as he got to his feet, drawing Hawke up with him. She smiled at the seneschal and inclined her head to the well-wishers as she followed him from the hall.

When they arrived at Hawke's chamber, one of her maids was standing outside with a garland of leaves in her hands. It would adorn the door as an assurance that it had not been opened throughout the night. Giving Sebastian's hand a reassuring squeeze, Hawke drew him inside and closed the door firmly behind them.

"This is…remarkable," he said as he looked around the room. It was laid out just as Hawke had requested. "Did you do this?"

She nodded. "Does it please you?"

"It's very beautiful."

"I'm glad," she said. "Would you like a cup of wine?"

"Not just yet," he replied. "But please, have one yourself."

"Perhaps in a moment," she said, going over to him. "It's warm in here. Will you take off your jacket?"

He eyed her, but said, "All right." His hands went to the buttons, but Hawke brushed them away. When she had undone them, she slipped the jacket from his shoulders and hung it over the back of a chair. She, however, remained in her dress.

"It was a fine feast tonight," she said as she poured a cup of wine for herself. "And the festival dancers were wonderful."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," said Sebastian, smiling. "I always liked the festival when I was boy."

"Did you miss it when you were gone?"

"Sometimes," he replied, sinking into a chair by the fire. "Do you miss Kirkwall?"

"I miss our friends more than the city," she said as she came up behind him and laid her hands on his shoulders. He did not flinch at her touch as might have once. Hawke gently began kneading the muscles.

"We should invite them here," he said. "I would be glad to see them again."

Leaning down close to his ear, she said, "I would like that very much."

He turned, and the tips of their noses brushed. Hawke smiled, kissing him lightly. As he drew back, his brows knit.

"Marian, are you happy here?"

"I…am," she replied, rising and resuming her work at his shoulders. "Starkhaven is beautiful."

He laid a hand over one of hers, looking up at her. "I didn't mean that. Well, I did, but I also meant…are you happy with me?"

Hawke took a breath. "I'm not entirely certain how to answer that."

"Will you try?" he asked, guiding her around so that she sat in the chair opposite his.

"I suppose," she sighed. This was not exactly how she had expected the night to begin, but she had little choice but to answer him honestly. "I had hoped you would take more pleasure in lying with me."

He all but rolled his eyes. "You are dissatisfied with _that_ of all things?"

"You dismiss it as if it is of no consequence," she said, anger roiling up in the pit of her stomach, "but it is no small thing."

"You're right," said Sebastian. "It is our duty to produce heirs for Starkhaven."

Hawke shot to her feet. "This is not about duty or heirs! Lovemaking is—"

"Lovemaking," he scoffed. "I've never heard a worse name for the act. Love is pure, not to be corrupted by the sins of the flesh."

"Pure?" she snapped. "Love is far from pure."

"Perhaps _your_ notion of love."

She narrowed her eyes. "So you would love your wife as you love the Maker? In contemplation and silence?"

"I would love you with respect and dignity, with dedication to your mind rather than your body."

"My body houses that which you would love. Does it not deserve the same devotion?"

"Such indulgence is sin, a false ecstasy that draws us from the path of the righteous."

"And true ecstasy is found in prayer?" she snarled. "I will never believe that."

"I will not defile my wife as if she were a common whore!" Sebastian cried.

"And what if I want it?"

He shook his head. "You'll not have it from me."

Hawke glared. "I swore that I would have no one but you for the rest of my days. I will keep that vow, but Andraste preserve me, Sebastian, I will not stand for a chaste marriage." Kicking out of her shoes, she reached for the laces of her gown and began releasing the knots.

Sebastian turned away as she shrugged out of the sleeves and left the dress in a pile on the floor. Beneath it she wore the silk shift, its lace edge just brushing the middle of her thighs. Furious that he would not even look at her, she pulled it over her head and threw it to the ground.

"If you will not sink so low as to make love to me," she snapped as she crawled naked onto the bed, "then I will see to it myself."

"Marian, please don't," Sebastian said.

"How are you going to stop me, husband?" she asked, lowering herself back onto the pillows. "Will you bind my hands so that I cannot lay them upon my flesh?" She brought the pad of her thumb to her mouth, drawing it between her lips. It glistened wetly as she used it to circle her nipple.

Sebastian was standing against the door, his eyes wide and fearful. He looked down, his face burning.

"I can't make you watch," Hawke said, "but I want you to."

"I could never."

"Then I will tell you of what you will not see."

Sliding her hand down her stomach, she parted her thighs. "You begin slowly, gently," she said. "Just the barest touch is enough at the start." With her fingertips, she made delicate circles.

"I've dreamed of what it might be like for you to touch me like this. For you to press your fingers against me, into me. You have such beautiful hands. I used to watch you sometimes while you fletched your arrows. You cut yourself on your knife once and sucked the wound clean. I wanted your fingers in my mouth, too."

She trailed the tip of her forefinger across her lip and drew it in, sucking gently. Her other hand continued to work between her legs.

"You move faster as your fingers slicken," she said. "Light and quick."

Glancing up briefly, she saw that he was watching her now, his chest rising and falling as he drew in deep breaths.

"I know you've heard me before," she said, "when I cry out at night, when I do this. I can't stop myself. What do you do when you hear it? Do you pray? Do you cover your ears? Or perhaps you reach down beneath that damnable shirt and take yourself in hand." She grinned up at him. He looked away.

"Is that guilt in your eyes, Sebastian Vael?" she asked. "Banish it. There is no shame in release. It clears the mind as nothing else can. I sought it often before we went into battle…and after. Did you never feel the ache of need in your gut after a hard fight?

"You can take care of it yourself, of course, but it's a pale imitation of what it's like to bed someone before your blood settles. What I wouldn't have given to strip you out of that pretty white armor, push you down onto the bloodstained ground, and have you fast and hard."

Closing her eyes, she imagined it, and not for the first time. Her fingers were moving faster now between her thighs. She caressed her breast with her other hand. The pressure was beginning to build in her lower belly, spurring her on.

"You would hold my hips tight enough to bruise as I rode you," she said. "You would cry out my name and the Maker's—"

"Enough!" Sebastian said, crossing the space between them in three long strides. He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her up from the bed. She stumbled as her feet stuck the floor, but he pulled her up against him, steadying her. Before she could protest, he landed a solid blow to her right buttock. She yelped, surprised, and stilled in his arms.

"Put a stop to this," he said between hard breaths, "or so help me, Marian, I'll strike you again."

"Will you?" she asked, smirking up at him. "I don't believe it."

He scowled. "I'll only warn you once."

Pressing her breasts against his chest, she spoke against his ear, "I'll not stop until you're on the flat of your back with me astride—ah!"

His hand came down hard on her left buttock, leaving it red. "I said _enough_."

"Oh, I don't think so," she said, taking his earlobe between her teeth. "Do it again."

He lifted his hand, but his brows knit as he saw her smile. "You…you're enjoying this. You _want_ me to hit you."

"Not hard," she said. "What you've done so far is perfect."

His eyes wide, he pushed her away from him. He paced the length of the room, running his hands through his hair. "Is there no part of this that someone hasn't twisted into sin? How can you say that being struck pleases you?"

"It's a game, Sebastian," she said. "Nothing more. If you were to hit me in earnest, I wouldn't allow it. But this, it's meant to be…" She sighed, hugging her arms to her chest. "Never mind."

"It's mean to be what?" he asked, turning to face her again.

"Enjoyed," she replied. "Lovemaking, in all its mess and foolishness, is meant to be _enjoyed_."

"The Chant—"

"I don't care what the Chantry says about it!" she snapped. "The Maker gave us this life, and I will _not_ see it wasted on chastity and duty." Crossing to where he stood, she reached up and touched his cheek. "I want to love my husband. I want to make a map of his body in my heart. I want to find all the places where he yearns to be touched, to hear my name on his lips as I bring him to ecstasy. If that is sin, then I will go to the Void happily."

Sebastian studied her face, her blue eyes intent. Taking her hand, he lifted her fingers away from his face. "I understand," he said as he took a step back from her.

Hawke looked down, refusing to watch him back away. Despite all her efforts, she had failed. He didn't want her. His bare feet disappeared from her view, as she expected, but a moment later a length of white linen fluttered to the ground where he had stood.

"Turn around, Marian."

"What?" she asked, glancing up.

Stepping over his discarded shirt, Sebastian set his hands on her shoulders. "I asked you to turn around."

She nodded, slowly spinning so that her back was to him. She started as she felt his fingers brush the nape of her neck. His skin was warm and calloused, raising gooseflesh on her shoulders.

"When I first entered the Chantry," he said, "I was afraid that even if I swore the rest of my life to the Maker, I would never manage to atone for the sins I had already committed. But Mother Elthina told me something then that I've never forgotten. She said that the Maker created sin so that we could know his mercy."

Hawke stood in silence as he traced the length of her spine with his fingertips, following the swell of her hips. She let out a slow breath as he reached her buttocks.

"I pray she spoke true," he said, slapping the flat of his hand against her skin.

She drew in a sharp breath, looking at him over her shoulder.

Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, he asked, "Is this what you want?"

"I—yes."

"Good," he said, stepping close enough so that against her back she could feel the soft hair that dusted his chest. His left hand grazed down below the small of her back.

She arched her spine and waited for the blow. It was lighter this time, but still stung pleasantly. Letting her eyes fall closed, she smiled. "Again."

He did as he was bid, striking the other cheek twice in quick succession. Hawke groaned, dragging her teeth across her lower lip.

"That sound," Sebastian said as he caressed the tender skin he had struck. "Make it again."

"I'd rather hear you," she said as she reached down to trail her fingers over the laces of his breeches. He tensed at her touch. She quickly withdrew, taking his hand instead. She brought his thumb to her lips, taking it into her mouth. Sebastian sighed, his breath warm on her shoulder. Smiling to herself, Hawke guided his fingers to her breast, the thumb grazing her nipple.

"Small circles," she said, leaning back against his collarbone. "Lightly. That's right."

Spreading the fingers of his free hand wide across her stomach, Sebastian pulled her tight against his chest. He bent his head so that he could bring his lips to her neck. His kisses were tender and a little hesitant.

Hawke slid her hand into the hair at the back of his head. She felt his eyelashes brush her cheek as he closed his eyes. Slowly, she managed to turn around in his arms until she could draw his mouth down to hers. His hands went to her back, holding her to him.

Delicately, she brushed her tongue along the seam of his lips. To her surprise, he opened his mouth readily, allowing her entry. He tasted of the spiced tea he drank most nights instead of wine: sweet cinnamon and ginger. Rising up on her toes, Hawke wrapped her arms around his neck.

Sebastian slid his hands down over her buttocks again, though instead of a slap, he scooped her up and guided her legs around his waist. He bore her to the bed, laying her down onto the coverlet.

She slid back to make space for him, though she did not move far enough away that she could not touch him. She was certain that if she let him go, the spell would be broken and he would retreat into himself again.

He knelt between her thighs, resting his hands lightly on either side of her hips. Hawke dug her short nails into his upper arms, pulling him down beside her. As he settled his shoulder against the pillows, she pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

His hand found her breast again, cupping it. She let her head fall back, feeling a rush of warmth between her legs. She was still slick from her own caresses, but Sebastian's hands on her made her ache as she never did when she touched herself.

Easing her way down his chest, she traced the place where his breeches met his stomach. The muscles beneath contracted.

"It's all right," she said, plucking at his laces. "I want to see you."

He nodded, albeit with apprehension.

Pressing gently against his shoulder, Hawke pushed him onto his back. She loosened his laces carefully, feeling him hardening beneath. When she had finished, she pushed his breeches down.

Swallowing heavily, he lifted his hips to allow her to slide the wool out from under him. She rubbed a reassuring hand on his chest as she pulled his boots off, drew each of his legs out of his breeches, and let them drop to the floor.

Bare, he was magnificent. His skin was golden in the light of the candles. Hair the same color as that on his head trailed down from his navel to the patch between his legs. When Hawke looked back up at him, his face was flushed and he would not meet her eyes.

"Look at me, Sebastian." Running her hands up his thighs, she nudged his legs apart until she could kneel comfortably between them.

"Marian, what are you—oh, Maker above."

She held back a laugh, though barely, as she took him in her mouth. He took a stuttering breath, his hips lifting to push himself deeper. Wrapping her fingers around him, she stroked the silken skin.

The sounds he made were perfect in their abandon. Unlike the schooled lovers she had had in Kirkwall, he did not say the things he thought she wanted to hear. His breathy exclamations were candid and sincere, and they drove her all but mad.

But, she forced herself to slow. She did not intend for this to end yet. Looking up, she met Sebastian's eyes. They were glassy and half-seeing.

"Do you want me, husband?" she asked.

"Yes."

She stroked her hand up his length once. "Say it."

"I…I want you," he said, the words stilted as he writhed beneath her hands.

"Louder," said Hawke.

The second time his voice was stronger.

She ran her tongue around the tip of him. "Louder."

He pushed his hips up, desperately trying to reach her mouth again. "I want you," he panted.

Hawke blew gently on him, saying, "Loud—"

"Void take it!" Sebastian swore, grabbing her by the arm and flipping her onto her back. He swung atop her, spreading her legs so that he could position himself between them. Pinning her arms above her head, he growled, "I want you. Do you hear, or shall I say it again?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but her words were lost as he bent his head to her breast. He sucked hard. His cock was pressed against the inside of her thigh, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of her. Tipping her hips up, she tried to guide him to her.

He drew back. "It's my turn to ask, isn't it? Do you want me, wife?"

"I do," she said, pressing herself against him as best she could while he still held her hands above her.

"You can do better than that," he said. "I heard you all those nights, calling out to me loud enough to be heard by half of Starkhaven."

"Did you like it?" she asked.

"Maker help me, I've never heard anything I loved more." With his free hand, he brushed up the length of her thighs until he reached the warmth between them. "I nearly broke down the door once. I thought I wished to shout at you to stop, to spare you from corrupting yourself further, but I knew it was a lie. I wanted to be the one making you cry out, touching you until you screamed." His middle finger slid against her once, twice, and then pushed inside.

"I used to take pride in pleasuring a woman," he said as he added a second finger. "It was sinful and wrong, for I was not wed, but you…you're mine. The Maker will grant us mercy as he would not have done for me alone. I will still seek to atone for this tomorrow, but for now…" Drawing his fingers out of her, he wrapped them around himself, slickening his length. "Tell me you want me, Marian."

Hawke said the words against his mouth as he pushed into her.

"Sweet Andraste." Releasing her wrists, he braced himself on his elbows and rolled his hips.

She lifted hers to meet him, sheathing him to the hilt. Her hands went to his back as she encircled his waist with her legs. He thrust into her hard, though slowly. She tightened around him as he drew out, making him groan.

"Come here," he growled, taking her legs and sliding them out of the way as he rolled onto his back.

Hawke grinned as she settled atop him, her hands against his chest as she moved. He took a firm hold of her breasts before sliding one hand down between her legs. She tilted her hips until his fingers brushed her. She took him deeper as she pressed against his hand. He looked at her as he never had before, his gaze traveling up and down her body without restraint, watching as she enveloped him with each thrust of his hips. Hawke closed her eyes as she felt herself rising to him.

"No," he said, cupping her cheek with his free hand. "Look at me."

She turned her gaze down as the pressure became too much to bear. Her body went taut as the wave broke over her, though she managed to keep her eyes open. As she began to descend again, she felt the muscles of Sebastian's thighs tighten beneath her. Grasping her hips, he thrust up into her a last time, her name tumbling from his lips.

She lay down against his chest as they both caught their breaths. When he did withdraw from her, he let her down gently onto her back. Her thighs were slick with sweat and seed, but she was content to lie there for another few minutes before she stood to wipe herself clean. Sebastian's hand rested against her stomach, his fingers making lazy circles.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

" _Mm_ ," was the reply.

Hawke turned onto her side and framed his face with her hands. "You regret it, don't you?"

"Part of me says I should," he said, "but no. I have no regrets." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "Did I give you all that you needed?"

"For now," she said as she kissed him, "but we still have the rest of the night."

"Hawke, we have the rest of our lives."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Written for the Dragon Age Kink Meme. Here's the original prompt:

Sebastian returned to Starkhaven to reclaim his throne and took Hawke with him as his wife.

He feels guilty for breaking his vows, but he knows he needs to father an heir. So once a month or so he comes to Hawke's bed for obligatory baby-making sex.

And it's awful. He's so repressed after all the years of being told by the Chantry that this is a sin that he can't take any pleasure in it. Half the time he can't get it up; the other half he can't stay hard. And it's even worse for her; dry, painful sex in the dark with absolutely no unnecessary touching or kissing.

She finally confronts him about it, but he's completely closed off to the possibility of even discussing icky sinful things like foreplay. When she presses him on the matter, he tells her that he will never touch or kiss her in any way that's not completely necessary to the act because it's unacceptable to him to see his chaste, Maker-blessed wife writhing and moaning and enjoying herself like a cheap back-alley whore. She's better than that and he will treat her with the respect and worship she deserves and not debase her that way.

Hawke has had enough; she's angry and frustrated determined to push him beyond this repression. She ends up stripping her clothes off, lays herself out on his bed/desk/whatever, and proceeds to touch herself in exactly the way that he won't, making sure to writhe and moan and debase herself in all the ways that he refuses to.

And he's stuck in the room with her for handwavey reasons so he has no choice but to listen and watch ... until he's so turned on that he can't help himself from throwing her down and taking her in a way that the Chantry would definitely not approve of...

+++ Eternal bonus points for working some spanking in there somewhere; when she's on all fours waving her bottom around he can't help but spank it in an attempt to get her under control and stop her appalling behavior? Until he finds that she likes it...

[I took some liberties with the plot, but the spirit of the prompt is there.]


	2. Chapter 2

_We have the rest of our lives._

"So we do," Hawke said, brushing a lock of hair back from Sebastian's forehead. A day before—even an hour before—she would not have been so content in that, but lying next to him as the afterglow of their lovemaking was just beginning to fade, she knew that it would be different between them come the morrow. It was already different.

"Will you have some wine?" she asked.

"I can get it."

Hawke shook her head. "I need to wash. I'll be just a moment." Slipping out of bed, she went to the ewer in the corner of the chamber. The water was cool and scented with lavender. Wetting a cloth, she cleaned the sweat from her breasts and washed between her legs. When she had finished, she made for the cabinet where she had left the wine. The heat of the fire in the hearth felt good on her skin as she poured a cupful of the sweet red.

Turning back him, she saw that Sebastian had brought the coverlet up over his legs. He sat against the pillows, having set them to rights again after they had been knocked onto the floor. He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them, reaching down to smooth his hands over the blankets restively.

Crossing back over to the bed, Hawke pressed the wine cup into his fingers. He took a small sip as she slid under the blankets beside him. Lifting his arm, she set it over her shoulders and leaned against him.

"Is that all right?" she asked.

He gathered her close to his chest and pressed a brief kiss to the crown of her head. "It is." He offered her the wine. "This is good. Did you choose it yourself?"

"I did. I spent a whole afternoon in the cellars tasting things until I found it."

"That must have been the day I found you in the library humming that song the tavern girls in the Hanged Man used to sing." He lifted a brow. "'Maiden's Mischief,' was it?'"

"Oh, Maker," Hawke laughed. "I had forgotten about that. Maybe I had a few more tastes than I should have."

Sebastian gave her a one-sided smile, the fingers of his right hand brushing absently against her arm. "You asked me to read to you."

"That I remember," she said. "You have a fine voice for reading aloud."

"You fell asleep, as I recall."

She grimaced. "Ah. I did, didn't I?"

"I didn't mind," he said. "You're lovely when you're sleeping. I…hadn't seen it before." He looked down, a line appearing between his brows. "We've never shared a bed for the night."

"No," said Hawke, "but there's no reason we can't start now. Are you tired?"

"A little," he said, "but I'm not ready to sleep yet. Unless you are."

She shook her head. "I'm fine right here."

"I'm glad," said Sebastian.

Reaching across him, Hawke set the wine down on the bedside table. She set her hand on his chest, feeling the soft hair against her palm.

"Tell me about growing up here," she said. "In the palace, I mean. I can't imagine it. The grounds alone are bigger than the town I was born in."

"I'll tell you a tale in exchange for one about Lothering," he said.

"There's not much to say, really, but I'll try to think of something. You first, though."

"It's been a long time since I've thought of my boyhood," he said, "but I do remember a few adventures around the north wing. My brothers and I used to hunt for treasures in forgotten places. I had quite the collection by the time I was eight or nine."

"You horded treasure like a pirate?" Hawke teased. "Isabela would be pleased."

Sebastian chuckled. "Well, I certainly didn't find any qunari relics, but I did keep my treasures in a little chest in my bedroom."

"What sorts of things did you have?"

"Anything small enough to fit in my pocket. I took the king from an ironbark chess set once. There was a brass paperweight in the shape of a leaping fish. I believe I even found a broken string of black pearls in a drawer. The leavings of one of my father's noble guests no doubt."

"Someone just cast them off because the string was broken?"

"I'm certain the lady had three more just like it," Sebastian said. "There was no need to keep that one."

"My mother had only one necklace," said Hawke. "It was a red stone pendent carved with the Amell coat of arms. When the clasp broke, my father rode all the way to Redcliffe to have a proper jeweler repair it. It was dangerous for an apostate to go into the village, but he insisted that the smith in Lothering would ruin it."

She recalled that day very clearly. She had been playing with Bethany and Carver in the dusty grass outside their cottage. The twins had been hardly more than two or three then. She had seen their father first. He sat astride the placid old mare they had owned for as long as she could remember. A threadbare traveling cloak hung about his shoulders.

"Father!" she had cried, getting to her feet. Her younger siblings had echoed her a moment later.

He had dismounted and swept his children into his arms. "I missed you all, my little ones," he had said as he kissed each of their foreheads.

"Malcolm, is that you?" said Leandra, drying her hands on her apron as she stepped out of the cottage. Her hair was still a pretty brown then.

"It is, my love," he had replied.

"Thank the Maker," she said as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard. Young Hawke had looked away then, but when she turned back she saw tears running down her mother's face. She was cupping Malcolm's cheek and speaking softly to him. He smiled at her and held out the pendent. She had dropped it into her pocket and embraced her husband once more.

"Do you still have the necklace?" asked Sebastian.

"I buried it with Mother," she replied. "It seemed right for her to have it."

He nodded. "Leandra was always kind to me. I remember her often, and fondly."

"You were her favorite, you know," Hawke said, smiling. "Of all my friends, she liked you best. I think you reminded her of all the clever young noblemen she kept company with when she was a girl. You always made her laugh when you came to dinner with us."

"As she did me," he said. "I enjoyed those nights very much."

Once Hawke had returned from the Deep Roads and bought back the Amell estate, she often invited her friends to sup with her and her mother. The house was made for more than just the two of them, Orana, Bodhan, and Sandal. And the company kept the ghosts of Carver and Bethany at bay.

Despite her daughter's friends' peculiarities, Leandra enjoyed entertaining them as well as she would have the viscount himself. She had mastered the particulars of giving parties and hosting guests of distinction when she was a young girl, but had not had the chance to put them to use in all the years she had lived in Ferelden. She learned her guests' favorite dishes: Fenris preferred fish, Anders had a weakness for pork pies, Merrill favored the potato and leek soup Orana made, Aveline and Donnic were fond of roasts, Isabela had a notorious sweet tooth, and Varric always wanted to try something new. Leandra spoke to each of them about their interests, never once put off by their often outlandish tales. The discussions around her table were certainly never dull.

On the nights when Hawke was out, her mother would invite her own friends to dine. She had made many among Kirkwall's nobility, some of them old acquaintances of her parents. Hawke was glad that the chatter of the Hightown matrons pleased Leandra, but it was not something she herself took to. She had learned to tolerate it in Starkhaven, as the princess could not escape from visiting with the wives and daughters of the nobles and merchants, but she had a reputation among them for steering the conversations away from fashion and gossip to business within the city or pastimes like archery and riding.

She had been pleased to hear that many of the girls that visited with her had taken up some of those pursuits. She had even set a trend for wearing breeches, though never to court. As little concern as she had for convention, she did not want to flout it completely. That would have embarrassed Sebastian, and that she would not do.

Her mother would have been pleased to see her in so many fine gowns. Much to her disappointment, Leandra had not been able to convince her daughter to don a frock for the party she had thrown for her birthday a few years past. Hawke smiled at the memory of that evening and asked Sebastian if he remembered it.

"I do," he said. "The cake Orana made for you was as tall as you were in your chair. And it was covered in chocolate confit. I ate myself sick that night."

"You weren't used to such rich food after the gruel and water they gave you in the Chantry," Hawke said, jabbing him lightly in the ribs.

"The gruel was only for special occasions," he said, scratching his chin. "Come to think of it, I should have brought some to the party."

Hawke smirked. "I would have loved to have seen Mother serve it alongside the rosemary roast game hens, wild mushroom tarts, and whatever other delicacies she could think up. She would have found a fine dish for it and set it at the center of the table just to avoid offending you."

"I would never have vexed her by doing such a thing."

"Of course not," she laughed, "but I'm enjoying imagining it. I would have paid a hundred gold sovereigns to see her face."

Sebastian's smile faded. "I wish she could have been there to see us wed. If I was a favorite of hers, I hope she would have approved of me as a match for you."

"I'm sure she never thought a daughter of hers would marry the Prince of Starkhaven," she said.

His brows knit. "I meant, would she have approved of me as a man, title or no. I would think her greatest concern would have been that I would be good to you. That I would treat you honorably."

Taking his hand, Hawke interlaced her fingers with his. "She _did_ approve. She told me once that if all men were as kind and honest as you, she wouldn't fear for Thedas any longer." She kissed his knuckles. "She was very fond of you and she would have been proud to call you her son."

"I'm glad to know that," he said. "It means a great a deal to me."

She lowered their hands back to his lap, though she did not let go. "Would your mother have liked me?"

"I'm not sure she would have known what to do with you. She was very traditional, groomed to be princess from a young age. The only battles she fought were matches of wit in the salons of the merchants and nobles. You are…different."

"She wouldn't have agreed to the marriage, then."

"Oh, that she would have liked very much," he said. "Politically, it's a powerful union, and marriage for the sons of the Prince of Starkhaven was always a matter of state. We were to be paired with the most powerful women in the Free Marches. As Champion of Kirkwall, you are among them."

"I'm not so sure about that," she said. "Bran has the power in Kirkwall. He just pointed me at the things he wanted pommeled."

"You give yourself too little credit. What you did for the city was remarkable." With two fingers at her chin, he lifted her face. "I've never known a woman like you, Marian."

She smiled, pulling herself closer to him. She could hear the steady beat of his heart and see the thrum of his pulse at the base of his neck. His hair was charmingly disheveled, a few strands sticking up at odd angles. She almost preferred it like that, rather than tidily combed. She appreciated his beauty when he was dressed in the fine clothes of a prince, but the rumpled look he had as he lay naked in her bed endeared him to her far more.

She felt desire pooling in the pit of her stomach as she recalled his face as his pleasure had taken him. He had pressed his head back into the mattress, his eyes pinched closed as he called out to her. She wanted to see it again and again. A smile tugged at her lips as she nuzzled his collarbone.

"May I ask you something?" he said.

She nestled down a little further until her head was resting in the crook of his shoulder. "Of course."

"What you said before…about you and I after a fight. Stripping me of my armor and, well… Did you really imagine doing such things with me?"

"I, ah…did. Yes. Does that bother you?"

"No," said Sebastian. "It's just…a surprise. I never suspected you harbored such desires for me when we were in Kirkwall."

"You were never meant to know," she said. "You were a friend, and one sworn to chastity. It wouldn't have been right for me to voice desires of any kind, especially that particular one."

"There were others?" he said, his brows rising.

Hawke swallowed. "A…few." Perhaps more than a few if she was honest, but she had never intended to admit them to anyone, let alone Sebastian himself.

"Will you tell me?" he asked.

She looked sharply up at him. "What?"

His cheeks were flushed, but he regarded her without shame. "You don't have to, but I would know what you'd…like to try."

Hawke blinked in surprise. "You want to know how I've thought about you—about us—lying together?"

He nodded. "I want to give you what you like, if I can."

"All right," she said, a thrill snaking down her spine. She had not spoken of such things with any of her past lovers, but there was something about the thought of whispering to her husband all the things she wanted to do to him that stirred her more than she might have thought.

"Is there something in particular you'd like to hear first?" she asked him.

He considered for a moment and then said, "When did you first begin to think of me…to want me?"

She chewed her cheek as she thought. When she had first seen him, he had been standing by the Chanter's board in Hightown. He wore the long robes of a lay brother, the sunburst of Andraste emblazoned upon his chest, but at his back was a plain, though finely crafted recurve bow. A quiver full of arrows hung beside it.

That alone would have been enough to give Hawke pause, but he had also been having a loud argument with the grand cleric in the middle of the street. She had never seen a brother or sister of the Chantry raise their voice to anyone, let alone to each other. Resting her hand on the pommel of her sword, she stopped to hear what was being said:

 _"Sebastian!" said Grand Cleric Elthina. "Stop this madness. The Chantry cannot condone revenge."_

 _"It is my_ right _," he snarled as he pasted a notice to the Chanter's board. "It is my duty to show these assassins that there is nowhere in the Free Marches to hide."_

 _As he turned to walk away, Elthina tore the parchment down. "This is murder!"_

 _"No," he said, drawing an arrow from his quiver and firing it. It pinned his notice to the board. "What happened to my family was murder. This is justice."_

 _"You swore never to harm another," said Elthina. "If you do this, you forsake your vow to the Maker."_

 _"I am killing no one."_

 _"But you are ordering them slain, and that is just the same as doing the deed yourself. There is no justice in this, Sebastian, only bloodshed."_

 _"Then so be it," he said as he stormed back toward the Chantry. Elthina let him go, taking one last glance at the notice before making her own way up the steps._

 _Once she had gone, Hawke took a step toward the Chanter's board._

 _"I don't think it's a good idea to get involved in this," said Aveline, frowning._

 _"The grand cleric left the notice," said Anders. "Why not have a look at it?"_

 _Pulling the shaft of the arrow from the board took some effort, but Hawke managed it. Slipping the parchment free, she read it over._

 _"Seems there's a prince of someplace called Starkhaven that needs someone to kill a band of mercenaries."_

 _"Starkhaven's about a week's ride inland," said Varric, scratching his cheek. "It's the biggest and richest city in the Free Marches."_

 _"Don't princes have soldiers at their beck and call to do this kind of thing?" asked Anders._

 _"Apparently this one doesn't," said Hawke, rolling the up the parchment and tucking it into her belt._

 _"You're not really going to do this, are you?" Aveline said. "Getting mixed up in the squabbles of the nobles will only create more of a headache for you."_

 _"Well," said Hawke, "it's a good thing Anders makes a tonic for headaches."_

The mercenaries gave them little trouble as it turned out, and within a week Hawke had returned to speak to the Chanter about payment for the job. The sister, however, had directed her—using only verses from the Chant, of course—to seek out a brother of the faith who was within the Chantry proper.

He had been lighting the candles before the altar of Andraste when she arrived. She had recognized him easily enough, even without his bow and quiver:

 _"Brother," she said. "A word?"_

 _As he turned, she got her first good look at him. His skin was several shades darker than hers, dusky as if honey had been rubbed into it. His auburn hair was cropped short and swept back neatly from his face. He was quite handsome, though his eyes were especially striking: they were brilliant, bluer than a high summer sky._

 _"You wish to speak to me, serah?" he asked._

 _"Yes," said Hawke. Taking the parchment from her belt, she held it out to him._

 _As he unrolled it, his eyes widened. "My post to the Chanter's board. Did Her Grace let that stay?"_

 _Hawke nodded. "And the matter has been dealt with."_

 _"_ You _killed them?"_

 _"I didn't do it alone, but yes," she said. "Prince Vael's family can rest easy now."_

 _"It's still strange to hear someone call me that," he said._

 _Hawke cocked a brow. "_ You're _the prince?"_

 _"I am," he said, "now that my father and my brothers are dead. My name is Sebastian Vael, and you have my eternal gratitude, serah, for avenging their deaths."_

 _"You're welcome, your highness," she said, making a small bow from the waist._

 _"Please, I insist you call me by my given name."_

 _"Very well," Hawke said. They stood in silence for a moment before she cleared her throat. "So…there's the matter of payment…"_

 _"Of course, of course," said Sebastian. "I have a small amount of coin I can give you now, but when I reclaim my father's throne, I will see to it that you are richly rewarded."_

 _"Is the throne in contention?" she asked._

 _"It is," he replied. "My cousin sits it now, but it is mine by right."_

 _"Perhaps it is," said Grand Cleric Elthina as she strode toward the altar, "but you are a brother of the faith, Sebastian. Worldly titles are no longer your concern."_

 _"But you told me, Grand Cleric, that I would be breaking my vows by ordering my family's murderers killed. This woman tells me that they are dead. Am I not already expected to leave the Chantry?"_

 _"We will discuss that at a later time," Elthina said, clasping her hands behind her back. "For now, I suggest you give Serah…"_

 _"Hawke."_

 _"Give Serah Hawke her reward and send her on her way."_

 _"I'll just need to go my room to get the coin," said Sebastian._

 _Hawke raised a hand. "There's no need. I can come back tomorrow and get it. Midday?"_

 _"That will be fine," he said. "Thank you, serah."_

When she had returned the following day, she had found him on the steps outside the Chantry:

 _He was no longer wearing his robes, she saw. In their place was a chainmail shirt over which a handsome set of lacquered white armor was buckled. His bow and quiver were at his back once more._

 _Hawke closed her mouth as quickly as it had dropped open, hoping that he had not seen. In the vestments of a lay brother he had been comely enough, but in armor he was stunning. He looked every inch the prince he said he was._

 _"Serah Hawke," he said as she approached._

 _She inclined her head. "Brother Sebastian. Or is it Prince Vael?"_

 _"I'm not entirely certain," he replied, the corners of his mouth turning up. "The grand cleric is allowing me to remain in residence in the Chantry for now, though she has released me from some of my duties so that I can pursue…other things."_

 _"'Other things?'" asked Hawke._

 _"You killed the mercenaries that slew my family," he said, "but someone paid them to do it. I'm going to find out who."_

 _"Do you have any leads?"_

 _"Not yet, but I've known most of the noble families in Kirkwall since I was boy. I'll start with them and see what I can find out." From the pouch at his waist, he drew a small bag of coins. "Here, serah. Thirty pieces of silver. It's a pittance, I know, but…perhaps there's another way I could repay you."_

 _Hawke raised a brow._

 _"I'd like to offer you my service," he said._

 _Before she could stop herself, she said, "I can think of a few services for you to perform."_

 _"What?" he asked. "Why are you smiling like…oh. Oh, no. That's not what I meant." He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks reddening._

 _"A joke," Hawke laughed. "It was only a joke."_

 _"Ah," said Sebastian. "Of course. Forgive me, it's been some time since I've been jested with. The sisters of the faith are not known for their humor."_

 _"No, I'd imagine not," she said. "So, what_ did _you mean?"_

 _"You said you didn't kill the mercenaries alone, so I assume you have others that fight with you. I thought that perhaps you might be in need of an archer." He drew the bow from over his shoulder, running his hands over it. "I was trained by the best marksmen in Starkhaven, and I've not let my skills slip since I entered the Chantry. I'd do it for nothing, of course, until you decided that my debt is paid."_

 _"Didn't the grand cleric say something about you swearing not to harm anyone?" Hawke asked._

 _"Andraste said that those who are strong should guard the helpless," he replied. "Violence can be done if the cause is just."_

 _"And you think my cause is just?"_

 _"Well," said Sebastian, "I spoke with some of the faithful about you as they passed through the Chantry last night. More than one said that you helped them or someone they know when they needed it most. Is it true that you went on an expedition to the Deep Roads?"_

 _"Word does get around," said Hawke. "Yes, it's true, but I did that to seek a fortune. I was helping only my family…and myself."_

 _"You spoke of your family first," he said. "It is a brave thing to go to such lengths to ensure that they are provided for. Do you have many siblings?"_

 _"It's just me and my mother now," she said. "My brother died during the Blight and my sister is a Grey Warden."_

 _"I'm sorry to hear about your brother. At least he is at the Maker's side."_

 _Hawke shifted her weight uncomfortably. Her father had been an apostate mage, and their family had given Lothering's Chantry a wide berth. Had he or Bethany been discovered by the Templars, they would have been sent away to the Circle of Magi. So, Hawke had always been wary of the faithful, their proclamations of devotion to the Maker strange to her._

 _Sebastian was only trying say something kind, though, so she mumbled her thanks. Louder, she said, "Anyway, we were talking business."_

 _"Indeed," he said. "I'll be glad to join you if you've need of me."_

 _"Well, there is a bit of a dust up at the Bone Pit that I might be able to use you for. Ever shot a dragonling?"_

 _"No, but I can't imagine they are so different from other beasts."_

 _"We'll find out," said Hawke, grinning. "Can you come now?"_

 _"I can," he replied. "And thank you, serah."_

 _"Don't thank me until we come out of this alive."_

Sebastian had, of course, proved to be more than capable with his bow. He shot with uncommon grace and precision, as if he carefully considered each step before he took it. His arrows never missed their mark.

Hawke went into battle with what Varric had once called 'joyful abandon,' a macabre grin on her lips as she wielded her blade. Sebastian, on the other hand, fought with a meditative calm, his face serene and his eyes trained only on his target.

Isabela and Anders, who had joined them at the Bone Pit that first day, had eyed him suspiciously when he and Hawke had arrived, but once the battle was done and Sebastian was collecting his arrows from the corpses that lay strewn about the mine, Isabela had come over to Hawke and asked, "Just where did you say you found this absolutely _delicious_ young man?"

"The Chantry," she had replied.

Isabela's brows had gone up. "What was he doing there? Praying for his arrows to fly true?"

Hawke had smiled. "He is—or was—a brother of the faith."

"Are there more there that look like him?" said Isabela, appreciating the view as Sebastian knelt to pull an arrow free of a dragonling's hide. "If there are, I think I need to pray more often."

Hawke had laughed, but she, too, found herself watching him as he moved among the fallen, deftly retrieving his arrows and wiping their tips clean. She had admired him from the start, of that there was no doubt, but it was not in lust. At least not then.

"I think," she said to him as they lay in her bed, "it started the first time I heard you sing the Chant during morning recitation."

"The Chant?" Sebastian asked, surprised.

"I know it sounds foolish," said Hawke, "but I had never heard anything like it. You put even the finest bards to shame."

As she had entered the vestibule that day, she could hear the verses being sung from within. The singer had a deep, clear voice that echoed around the nave. Following the sound, she had looked over the bowed heads of the faithful to see Sebastian standing at the altar. He recited from memory, it seemed, for no book rested on the lectern before him.

Hawke had forgotten long ago what part of the Chant he had been singing, but she had hardly been listening to the words anyway. She had been unable to look away from him; he commanded the attention of all in the Chantry. His expression was perfectly tranquil, save for the small smile that touched the corners of his mouth. His eyes were cast up to the heavens as if Andraste herself was watching from above. Hawke was certain that if there truly was a Maker, even He had to be listening.

The verses should have been enjoyed in reverence, she knew, but the cadence and resonance of Sebastian's voice evoked something far more passionate. There was ecstasy in the sound that made yearning spark to life in her breast.

"I didn't know that you enjoyed my recitations so much," Sebastian said, hugging her shoulder with his hand. "Thank you."

"Surely someone before me has told you how well you sing," said Hawke.

"Yes," he said, "but none have said that they wanted me because of it."

She brushed her fingers across his stomach, tracing the lean lines of muscle that years of archery had sculpted. "Well, it wasn't your voice alone," she said, "but it tipped the scales in your favor."

"Did you often come to hear me?" he asked, smiling.

"I attended more services after I'd met you than I ever had before."

He chuckled. "Well, if it got you into the Chantry to hear the Maker's word, I'm glad."

"As long as that word was on your tongue," she said, "I would listen to it for as long as you wanted me to."

"Oh, really? Then I'll have to arrange something. Would half a day of the _Canticle of Trials_ suit you?"

"You'd be hoarse by the end of that and you know it," said Hawke.

"And you'd be asleep after an hour," said Sebastian.

She made a face at him.

He grinned, reaching for her cheek. He traced her jaw with his fingertips. "' _In the long hours of the night,_ _when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your light remains_.'"

She closed her eyes as she listened. "What verse is that?"

"Trials Two," Sebastian said. "One of my favorites."

"Do another," she said as she lowered her head to his chest. She felt the reverberation of his voice as he sang quietly:

"' _You have walked beside me, down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me_.'"

"It's very beautiful," said Hawke.

"It's as true of you as it is of the Maker," he said.

She looked up, uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"Since I met you, you've never once turned away from me," he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You stood with me against my enemies, helped me to my feet when I faltered. When I lost all that I held dear, you gave me comfort. And when the viscount proposed it, you agreed to marry me. No one else has done more for me than you."

Moved, she pressed her lips to his. She meant it only to be brief, but as she went to draw away, Sebastian put his arms around her and pulled her to him. He opened his mouth under hers and deepened the kiss.

Heat blossomed in Hawke's belly, suffusing her blood and pushing all thoughts of the Chant from her mind. Rising up onto her knees, she put her arms around Sebastian's neck and slid her fingers into the hair at the nape. His hands moved down her back, pushing the coverlet down until she was free of it. He grasped her thighs, guiding them over his hips.

"Sebastian," she said against his mouth. "Are we…is this…what you want?"

"You've given me so much," he said, "and yet I've been neglecting you. When you needed me here, like this, I turned my back. No more. You should have all that you want." His right hand grazed over her hip and then down between her legs.

Hawke's mouth opened in surprise as she he touched her. His fingers were warm and lightly calloused. He stroked her lightly and gently, just as she had told him to do. Resisting the temptation to smile in triumph, she pressed herself into him and let her eyes fall closed.

"Tell me how you used to think of me," he said as he cupped her breast in his left hand. "When we were in Kirkwall."

"You're making it rather hard to think just now."

His lips brushed her nipple as he said, "Try."

Taking a breath, she attempted to order her thoughts. Sebastian's fingers were beginning to slicken as he brushed them against her, and all she could think of was how much she wanted him to put them inside her. Leaning into his hand, she fought to bring her once familiar desires to the fore.

"I used to imagine you touching me like this," she said, "when we were camped on the Wounded Coast or Sundermount. When the others were asleep, you would steal over to my bedroll—only you could do it quietly enough not to wake anyone—and you would lie down beside me. We wouldn't speak. You would just slip your hands under the blankets and…" She trailed off as he eased his middle finger into her. She held tight to his shoulders to steady herself as he added a second.

"I would have to be quick and silent," he said, kissing her neck.

"You always were. And you knew just where to touch me."

"Am I doing well enough now?"

"Oh, yes."

"Good. Now tell me another."

Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, but she managed to say, "I thought more than once of stealing into your little cell in the Chantry dormitory. You'd be hunched over one of your manuscripts, your pen scratching away. You'd look up when you heard me, though. Setting the quill down, you'd come to me and kiss me hard. We could never get our clothes off fast enough."

"And then?" he asked. He slid his fingers out of her, resuming the light, fast strokes that would send her spiraling into ecstasy. She was beginning to ache for release.

"And then," she said, between ragged breaths, "I'd wrap my hands around the back of the chair. You'd step behind me and have me like that, bent over your writing table. Your fingers would leave smears of ink on my hips where you had grasped them to pull me to you."

Sebastian moved his free hand over one of her hips, squeezing hard enough to redden the skin. "Like this?"

"Just like that." She was beginning to tremble, the muscles of her thighs taut as he worked between them. He was good at this, very good. She very nearly cursed the Maker aloud for keeping this part of her husband from her for so long. But instead she bent down and pressed her forehead to his. She held his gaze as she began to rise to him. At his whispered, "Marian," she was lost. She arched away from him, her head thrown back and her eyes closed.

Sebastian held her as the tremors shook her body, his fingers slowing, but not yet moving away from her. When it was over, Hawke fell against him. Her head rested on his shoulder.

"Are you well?" he asked as he stroked her back.

"Perfect," she replied. "That was…perfect."

His lips grazed the side of her neck as he said, "I'm glad."

Hawke would have been content to lie there in languid bliss for the rest of the night, but when Sebastian shifted to make himself more comfortable, she felt him hard beneath her. Lifting her head, she caught his eye.

There was uncertainty in his face as he asked, "Will you have me again?"

She answered him with a kiss, reaching down between them to grasp him. Gently, she guided him to her and slowly lowered down until she had taken all of him.

"Merciful Maker," he groaned.

"He has no place here," Hawke said. "This is our bed, not His."

Sliding his hands up her sides and onto her breasts, Sebastian said, "He is always with us."

"Not tonight. Tonight you belong to me." To drive the point home, she tightened around him, easing slowly up the length.

His head fell back against the headboard, his eyes closing. "How are you doing that? It's never felt like that before."

Hawke grinned, continuing at her unhurried pace. "Does it please you?"

" _Yes_."

"Good." Leaning close, she traced his ear with her tongue. She felt him sigh against her shoulder. The pads of his fingers brushed softly over her nipples, bringing them up hard.

His blue eyes were bright as he looked up at her again. "If I'd known I could have had you like this in Kirkwall, keeping to my vows would have been excruciating. You were temptation enough already."

"I tempted you?" she asked between kisses. That pleased her more than she would have expected. Imagining him lying in his narrow bed in the dormitory with his hand around his cock as he thought of her set her blood to burning.

"You did," he said, his voice strained as she moved atop him. "I could control it when I was awake, but when I dreamed…"

Hawke ran her hands down his chest. "What did you dream of?"

"Let me show you," he said. Taking hold of her buttocks, he lifted her away from him. "Turn over and lie down."

There was a note of command in his voice that she liked very much. Rolling onto her stomach, she wrapped her arms around one of the pillows. She glanced back at Sebastian, waiting for instruction.

"Open for me," he said as he ran his hands up the backs of her thighs. She spread them, making space for him kneel behind her. "You'll tell me if you don't like this."

"Yes." There was moment of expectancy before she felt the tip of him pressing against her. Lifting her hips a little, she waited for him to fill her again. As he eased in, she smiled and hugged the pillow tighter.

He lowered himself down until he was pressed against her back, with nearly his full weight on her. To her surprise, it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, she quite liked the feeling of him pushing her down into the mattress.

"All right?" he asked against her ear as he drew out slowly and then moved back into her.

"Yes. Keep going."

He held himself up with his arms, though he remained close enough that she could feel the warmth of his chest on her back. His thrusts were slow at first, letting her feel him from tip to hilt.

"I dreamt of you beneath me like this," he said as he rolled his hips. "We were in my bed and couldn't be heard by the sisters, so you muffled your cries in my pillow. And you _always_ cried out." He pushed deep into her then, eliciting just such a sound. "I've waited so long to hear that."

"Do that again," said Hawke. He complied, and she raised her hips to meet him. He moved faster after that. She let him set the pace, wanting him to take his pleasure as he wished to. It wasn't long, though, before both of their voices echoed around the bedchamber as he thrust into her a last time.

Hawke lay still as Sebastian caught his breath, but she was not going to last long with his full weight on her. With a contented sigh, he rolled away and landed heavily on his back. She turned onto her side to face him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded, though his eyes were closed. Hawke looked him over as he lay bare and unashamed before her. She wanted to reach out to him, but she knew it would be best to let him recover in his own time.

"Where are you?" he said after a moment. He patted the space next to him. "Come here."

Smiling, Hawke slid over to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and settling her head on his shoulder.

Turning, he kissed the top of her head. "If you don't mind, I think I might like to sleep now."

"I don't mind," she said, holding back a laugh. She reached down and brought the coverlet up over them. "Rest well, husband."

"Goodnight to you, my wife."

* * *

The sun was already high when Hawke woke the next morning. She was a bit sore and quite pleased with herself. Glancing over, she saw Sebastian sleeping soundly beside her. He had pushed the blankets away at some point during the night, leaving most of them for her. Sharing a bed must have been too warm for him. Still, she moved the coverlet carefully up over his hips. The fire and the candles had long since burned out and there was a chill in the room.

Slipping out of bed as stealthily as she could, she found her fur-lined robe and wrapped it around herself. Tiptoeing over to the door, she rang for a maid. There must have been a girl waiting just outside for the summons because it was no more than a minute before the latch lifted and an slight elf with dark, braided hair stuck her head inside.

"Your highness?" she said.

Hawke touched her fingers to her lips. "Quietly, if you please. I don't want to wake him."

The maid nodded.

"Will you have bathwater sent up to the prince's chambers?"

"Of course, your highness," the girl whispered. Dropping a curtsey, she scurried away.

Hawke closed the door behind her and padded back over to the bed. Sitting on the edge nearest to Sebastian, she ran a hand over his hair. At her touch, his eyes opened wide and he caught her wrist. His body was tense, ready for an attack.

"It's all right," she said. "Sebastian, it's me."

He blinked up at her as if he had not been able to see properly before. "Hawke?"

"Yes," she said, though she was surprised by his use of her surname. Her former surname.

"Why are you here… Oh." He released her wrist as if she had burned him. "Maker above, I'm so sorry. I had forgotten where I was."

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said.

Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead. "Forgive me. I'm not accustomed to someone waking me like that."

"There's nothing to forgive," said Hawke. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a dead man," he said. "Last night was…well, I haven't done that in a very long time."

Hawke took his hand, hoping that the guilt his god imposed upon him had not returned. "You're all right with what happened, aren't you?"

"Very much," he said. Smiling, he reached up to touch her cheek. "You look lovely this morning."

"Thank you," she said, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. "I've sent for a bath for you."

"Ousting me from your bed so soon?" he asked, teasing her. He found the edges of her robe and gently tugged at them. "I was hoping we might start the day together."

Hawke's brows rose. "I was looking forward to that bath, but I think I've just had a better offer."

Sebastian grinned as he fisted his hands in the fur of her robe and pulled her down onto the bed once again.

* * *

"Was this your father's room before it was yours?" Hawke asked. She was soaking the large brass tub that the servants had brought up. Sebastian was sitting behind her, his legs and arms around her as she leaned against him. The water had thankfully still been warm when they crossed from her room into his, but now it was beginning to cool.

"It was," he said. "And my grandfather's before that. As far as I know, all the princes have resided here." He scratched his chin distractedly.

Hawke could hear his short nails rasping against the beginnings of his beard. For as long as she had known him, he had always been clean shaven, but as he had kissed her that morning, she had felt the prickling of his chin against hers. She wondered in passing what he might look like if he allowed it to grow.

"And all the princesses have had my chambers?" she said, lifting her hand out of the water and watching the droplets on her fingers fall back into it.

"They did," said Sebastian. Raising his hand up to hers, he entwined their fingers. His palms were wider than hers, but their fingers were almost the same length. Both their hands were roughed from hard use, though Hawke's was marked with small scars from errant blades.

"So, they always kept separate quarters," she said. "The princes and princesses, I mean."

"That's right," said Sebastian. "Is that not also the custom in Ferelden?"

"I don't know about the nobility," she said, "but my mother and father shared a bed from the time they married to when my father died." Of course, there had only been space in their cottage for a single bed downstairs. Hawke and her siblings had slept in the loft. Ferelden nobles, she imagined, had estates large enough to keep separate rooms.

"Your parents were lucky," Sebastian said. "They married for love. Most of my ancestors' marriages were arranged. Husbands and wives were given their own space so that they did not always have to be in each other's company. In some cases, there was quite a bit of animosity between them." He brushed a damp lock of hair back from her temple. "Do your chambers not suit you?"

"They do," she said. "I was just considering… I had hoped we might share a bed more often now."

He rested his chin on her shoulder. "I'll come to you as often as you like."

"And what if that's every night?" she asked, looking at her reflection in the bathwater.

"I'm yours to command," he said as he wrapped his arms around her.

Water sloshed over the side of the tub as Hawke turned around to look at him. "You have to want it. I won't ask anything of you that you won't give willingly."

He took her face between his hands. "I meant what I said before. I want to give you everything you want. And I'm more than willing." The corner of his mouth turned up. "Though if every night is to be like last night, then I had best learn to make do with less sleep."

She laughed. "I promise I won't keep you up until all hours."

"I will make no such promise," he said, sliding his hands down her neck and collarbone. "There will be some nights that I will keep _you_ up until all hours."

"I look forward to it," Hawke said as she leaned in to kiss him. The confines of tub did not lend themselves to more than that, so after a time, she drew back. "I should go dress."

"As should I," said Sebastian. "I have duties to attend to."

Hawke sat back on her heels. "What duties?"

"Audiences. There are always grievances to be heard and disputes to settle." He gave her a one-sided smile. "It's the burden the prince bears."

Hawke frowned. In all the months since they had been wed, she had never sat with him as he heard the petitions of his people. Quite suddenly, she wanted to.

"Would you mind if I joined you today?" she asked. "I'd like to hear more about the matters of state."

Sebastian raised her hand to his lips. "You're always welcome. And you don't have to listen in silence. You're the Princess of Starkhaven. You can render judgment just as I can. We rule together."

"Sometimes I forget that," she said, looking down. "I still think it's strange to be called 'your highness,' let alone to consider that I actually rule something."

Touching her chin, he raised her face until she met his gaze. "No matter what your titles are, you'll always be the same woman you were in Kirkwall and in Ferelden. You'll always be Marian Hawke."

"Vael," she said. "It's Marian Vael."

"So it is," he said as he kissed her.

* * *

 **Notes:** Okay, so I didn't expect to write a second chapter for this, but then the ideas just started flowing. This prompt really got me into this particular scenario for Hawke and Sebastian, so here's another chapter. I'm not going to lie; there will probably be more.


	3. Chapter 3

"In closing, your highness, may I state that I bear no ill will toward Lord Fenner. I desire only to have this business done with and see amends made." Holding his feathered hat over his breast, Lord Uryel Dunharrow bowed low.

Hawke looked between him and the man against whom he had brought his complaint. Nearly two decades his junior, Lord Fenner was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his face pinched in distaste. He had allegedly laid claim to a tract of farmland that rightly belonged to his neighbor, Lord Dunharrow. The parcel had been lying fallow for some years, and Fenner, who had just inherited his title, sought to put it to better use. Dunharrow insisted that he was doing so unlawfully. However, he could not produce documents that proved his ownership. Neither could Fenner. They had brought the matter to the prince to settle.

Such disputes were common among the nobles of Starkhaven, Hawke had discovered. She had heard many similar grievances in the weeks since she had begun to sit in audience at Sebastian's side.

She had first joined him on the day after the harvest festival, a month past. After their bath that morning, she had returned to her chambers to dress. Uncertain which of her gowns would be the most appropriate, she had called for her maid, an elf of middle years called Gilla. She had been attending Hawke since she had first arrived in the city, and had long ago learned that her princess knew her way around an armory far better than she did her wardrobe…

 _"The gold brocade will suit for an audience," said Gilla, holding the gown up for Hawke's inspection. "It's not too fine for day wear, but lends you an air of authority, if I do say so myself, your highness."_

 _"As always, I defer to you," said Hawke._

 _Gilla grinned. "I haven't steered you wrong yet, highness, and I won't. I promise you that. Now, come here so I can lace you into this."_

 _She allowed the maid to guide her arms into the gown's long sleeves and then lace it up the back. She was just finishing when there was a knock at the door._

 _"Come in," Hawke said._

 _Gilla dropped a curtsey as Sebastian strode into the room. He was dressed finely, and a coronet of beaten gold rested over his hair. It was simpler than the one he had worn on their wedding day, which had been set with jewels and adorned with the sunburst of Andraste. This one was plainer, but became him, Hawke thought, far better than the other had._

 _She smiled at him. "Ready to go down, then?"_

 _"Not quite." He held out a wooden box. Its top was carved with the heraldry of Starkhaven. "If you're to sit in audience, you'll need this." Lifting the lid, he revealed a delicate circlet wrought of gold and set with emeralds._

 _Hesitantly, Hawke reached out and touched it. "The crown?"_

 _"It's one of many," said Sebastian. "The Princesses of Starkhaven have never wanted for jewels. But this one was made for my grandmother. I thought you might like it."_

 _"I do," she said. "I just…didn't know I had to wear it for this."_

 _"I promise, this is one of the only occasions on which you'll have to." Handing the box to the maid, he took the circlet and set it gently on Hawke's head. "It suits you."_

 _Tracing the cool gold with her fingertips, Hawke could not help but recall the last crown she had worn. It had been woven of clover blossoms. She and Bethany had been sitting together in a meadow outside of Lothering. Her younger sister had been eight years old then and had not yet come into her magic._

 _Hawke had always preferred playing at knights with Carver than wearing skirts and crowns of flowers, but she found it difficult not to indulge her sister. With the flowers resting on her hair that day, she had tried her hand at pretending to be a princess. She made Bethany laugh with her attempts at formality and courtesy. She had been clumsy then, and sometimes felt the same even now as she navigated life in Starkhaven's court._

 _"My grandfather used to tell me," said Sebastian, drawing her attention back to him, "that the weight of the crown was a reminder of weight of his responsibilities. He had a duty to hear even the smallest grievance with the same attention that he did the greatest."_

 _"A wise man, your grandfather."_

 _Sebastian nodded. "He was. And a good prince."_

 _Hawke smiled. "As are you."_

 _"I hope so."_

 _Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, Hawke looked herself over. The emeralds winked in the candlelight, bright against her dark hair. "Did you grandmother sit in audience often?" she asked._

 _"Rarely," Sebastian replied, "though she did her share of resolving disputes. She simply did so in the guise of hostess. You'd be surprised how many petty squabbles she put to rest at her dinner table."_

 _"She and my mother would have gotten along well," said Hawke. "I am…not so delicate, I'm afraid."_

 _"And you need not be."_

 _Hawke lifted a brow._

 _"You're direct," Sebastian said, "as my grandfather was. He would have liked that very much. My grandmother's circuitous diplomacy often frustrated him. He could not fault her for its effectiveness, however."_

 _"Sometimes I wish I had my mother's tact," Hawke sighed. "None of her children inherited it, though. We weren't raised to be nobles."_

 _"Perhaps not," said Sebastian, "but I believe we could use a bit more forthrightness in governance. I'd prefer not to become mired in intrigue. Little gets done."_

 _"Are you implying that_ I _get things done?" she laughed._

 _"I am," he said, smiling. "The Champion of Kirkwall is, by necessity, ruthlessly efficient. I always admired that."_

 _Taking her by the chin, he pressed a brief kiss to her mouth. The intimacy surprised her. He had never done more than take her hand when others were present. Gilla was equally surprised, it seemed. Hawke caught sight of her raised brows from over Sebastian's shoulder. By the time he had stepped back, the maid was grinning outright. Hawke winked at her as she threaded her arm through Sebastian's and followed him out into the passage._

When they had arrived in the audience chamber, Seneschal Asher had been waiting. "Your highnesses," he had said with a shallow bow. "To what do we owe the honor of our princess's presence?"

Hawke had expected Sebastian to answer, as the question had been directed at him, but instead he looked to her.

"I…I'm to hear the petitions of the people," she said.

"As is her right," said Sebastian.

Asher inclined his head. "Of course. The petitioners will be honored to hear your judgment, highness."

Hawke had intended only to listen that first day, but she did not say that to him. Instead, she had allowed Sebastian to lead her up the steps to the dais on which their thrones stood. They were carved of polished, dark marble and inlaid with intricate knots. Cushions of green velvet would offer them some comfort as they sat. Hawke sank down into the seat at Sebastian's right hand.

"Shall we begin?" asked Asher once they were settled. When Sebastian nodded, the seneschal waved to the guards standing at the end of the chamber. It took all four of them to pull open the heavy doors.

Beyond the threshold were some fifty nobles, all turned out in their finest silks and jewels. As they entered the chamber, they approached the dais and made their reverence. Hawke recognized some of them, though fewer than she would have liked. She had been their princess for months and yet she knew less than half of the people who stood before her now. The weight of the crown on her head seemed to grow as she felt guilt roil in the pit of her stomach. These were her people now; it was her responsibility to know them.

When everyone in attendance had presented themselves, the guards closed the doors. Seneschal Asher stepped forward and read two names from the parchment he held. A pair of men stepped forward and presented themselves.

One was a nobleman who had invested a significant sum to commission the artisans of the Shipwrights' Guild to build a new river barge for him. The guild, he claimed, had not finished the vessel by the agreed upon time, cutting into the profits of the venture he had undertaken. He was seeking reparations.

The foreman of the guild argued that he and his fellows had other ships to design and build as well. They had been commissioned earlier and therefore had to be finished before the nobleman's barge.

Once both sides of the argument had been made, Sebastian sat forward and asked questions of each man. The nobleman's answers were longwinded and always returned to the fact that he had paid good coin to see the barge finished by the first day of Firstfall, which was already a fortnight past. The shipwright's answers were shorter and somewhat apologetic. He explained that his guild didn't often have to contend with so many commissions at one time, but since Prince Vael had taken the throne, trade was flourishing and the demand for river vessels had only grown.

When they were finished, Hawke watched Sebastian out of the corner of her eye as she waited for his decision. Were it hers, she would have made the shipwright give a portion of the nobleman's gold back, though she would not require him to pay interest, as the nobleman had requested. She was immeasurably pleased when Sebastian did just that. Both men accepted the judgment without complaint, bowed, and rejoined the crowd of onlookers.

Hawke sat in silence as five more petitions were heard. She considered each carefully and decided what her conclusion would be in each case. She kept her counsel, however, allowing Sebastian to weigh in on each matter without her. That was until they received a petition from the captain of the guard for coin to purchase sturdier boots for the guardsmen.

The captain was a burly man with a thick, black beard. His boots and his armor showed signs of wear, but were well kept. Though he could not have looked less like Aveline Vallen, Hawke's good friend and captain of Kirkwall's guard, they had the same air about them. Both were plainspoken and held themselves with the unobtrusive pride of lifelong soldiers.

When the captain had finished finished speaking, Hawke had laid her hand on Sebastian's forearm and spoken in his ear: "This shouldn't even be a question. The guard should be properly outfitted."

Sebastian had smiled and said, "If that is your decree, then say it to him."

"Shouldn't you?" she had asked.

"It is your right as much as it is mine," he had replied.

Hawke swallowed, but nodded. Turning to the captain, who stood expectantly before the dais, she said, "Your petition will be granted, captain. The guard of the city must be adequately supplied if they are the keep order in its streets."

"My sincere thanks, your highness," the captain said as he bowed.

"What is your name, serah?" Hawke asked.

"Dillon, your highness. Ambrose Dillon."

"Well, Captain Dillon, should the guard require anything else—blades, shields, or more boots—you will bring it to my— _our —_ attention right away."

"As you command, princess." Bowing once more, he backed away.

Sebastian had slid his hand over Hawke's. "Well said."

She had looked over at him a little sheepishly. "I might have just cost us a fair bit of gold."

"I could not think of a better way to spend it," he had said, squeezing her fingers.

Since that day, he had waited to hear her opinion before he rendered judgment. It was rare that she disagreed with him, but when she did, she did not keep it to herself. Once, they had held a rather lengthy, but quiet discussion while the petitioners waited worriedly. When Hawke delivered their verdict, however, they thanked their prince and princess for giving the matter such thorough consideration.

As she watched Lord Dunharrow and Lord Fenner waiting, she turned to Sebastian and said, "Fenner makes a good point. The land really shouldn't lie unused. There's profit to be made from it."

"I agree," said Sebastian. "But to whom should those profits be awarded? Neither can lay claim to the tract."

"Why not make them split it?" she asked. "Whatever the sale of the wheat brings in, they will each have half. It addresses the problem and…encourages a little neighborly cooperation."

Smiling, he drew her hand to his lips. "Tell them."

Hawke turned back to the noblemen. She delivered the judgment, though at the end she added, "If a conflict arises next season over what will be planted in the field, Lord Dunharrow will choose. Fenner planted wheat this season. Two seasons hence, you should come to an agreement before a single seed is sown."

"That is an acceptable arrangement," said Dunharrow. "I thank you, your highness."

Hawke inclined her head, silently dismissing him. When he and Fenner had gone, Seneschal Asher reappeared and declared the proceedings concluded. Hawke bit back a sigh of relief. The audiences had taken longer that day than they did most others, and she was beginning to grow restless. Her fingers were itching to take up her blade and train with the royal fencing master. Though she sat a throne, she had refused to lay down her weapons completely.

Sebastian had no qualms since he, too, would not go a day without taking up his bow. Sometimes Hawke joined him, though she would never in her lifetime be able to shoot half as well as he did. He never picked up a sword, though. By Hawke's reckoning, that made them even.

As much as she enjoyed the bouts with the fencing master and the leisurely afternoons spent at archery, there were times when she yearned for the long days trekking up to the summit of Sundermount and the hard fights against slavers on the Wounded Coast. She could have done without the scuffles with the Carta in Darktown, but then again, she could have done without Darktown altogether after the unspeakable filth she had to wade through to acquire reagents for Anders's concoctions.

 _Anders_. Thoughts of him made her blood boil with fury. For years she had trusted him and called him her friend, and yet he had betrayed her utterly in his blind pursuit of vengeance. She would never be able to banish the memory of Sebastian falling to his knees in the rubble of the Chantry that day, his body wracked with grief. He had lost two families in his one lifetime: those of his blood in Starkhaven and those he had chosen in Kirkwall.

Hawke understood loss. From her father and her comrades in Cailin's army who fell at Ostagar to Carver, Bethany, and her mother, she had seen her share of it. But, Sebastian's suffering was no less profound. Everything he knew was taken from him by those who sought power. Johane Harrimann wanted a throne. Anders wanted the Chantry to fall so the mages could rise. Both spilled the blood of those Sebastian loved to get it.

Such pain would have left a lesser man bitter and broken, but not him. He had chosen to fight at Hawke's side until Meredith was thrown down. He had spent weeks aiding those in need in the aftermath of the fighting. When Hawke had offered him a room in her estate, he had chosen to stay among the wounded. It was only when the revered mother of Starkhaven's Chantry arrived in Kirkwall that he considered leaving.

Hawke had been at the Viscount's Keep when her retinue had made their entrance. Far older than Grand Cleric Elthina had been, the Revered Mother Rivanon had been present on the day Sebastian was delivered into the sight of the Maker as a babe in arms. When he had come before her once again in the keep in Kirkwall, he had greeted her with due veneration, kneeling at her feet as a brother of the faith and offering her his service.

She had regarded him coolly for a moment, but then bid him rise. Though he stood more than a head taller than her, she managed to look down her nose at him.

"I will not accept you, Sebastian Vael," she had said, her voice still clear and sharp as the cracking of a horsewhip. "Your place is no longer in the Chantry. It has not been since I recited the Benediction of Parting over your father's tomb. You are his heir, boy, and you are needed more than you know."

It had been some time since Hawke had spoken to him about his intentions—whether he would leave the Chantry to return to Starkhaven or relinquish his claim to the throne and remain in the brotherhood. She had known that his heart was with the Maker, but that his sense of duty often outweighed his own desires.

He had chosen to remain in Kirkwall to protect the grand cleric after she had refused to go with Sister Nightingale to the safety of Orlais, but now that she and all the other sisters he had known for half his life were gone, Hawke wondered if he had any true reason to remain bound to Andraste. Despite his misgivings, she was certain that he would be a good ruler. Mother Rivanon, it seemed, agreed.

"If that is your command, Revered Mother," he had said as he regarded her, "then I will go immediately."

"I would have seen you return years ago, boy," she had said, "had Elthina allowed it. But she wanted you to make the choice for yourself." She had set a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "I am not so willing to see my city fall into the hands of a lackwit and those who hold sway over him. I am telling you to take your throne, Prince Vael."

"Yes, Revered Mother." Bowing, he had gone out of the Viscount's Keep without a glance back.

He had, however, come to Hawke's estate that night…

 _"Mistress?" said Bodhan quietly from outside her study. "I don't wish to disturb you, but you have a guest."_

 _Hawke, tired from hours of clearing broken stone from the streets of Hightown, rubbed her forehead. It was already past dark and she had no desire to see anyone. "Who is it?"_

 _"Master Sebastian, mistress."_

 _"All right," she sighed. "I'm coming down."_

 _He was waiting for her by the fireplace, his arm resting on the mantle as he looked into the flames._

 _"Hawke," he said, turning when he heard her footsteps. "Thank you for seeing me."_

 _"Of course. Is something the matter?"_

 _"No, but I've come to say goodbye."_

 _She raised a brow. "You're leaving for Starkhaven in the middle of the night?"_

 _"At first light." He smiled wanly. "I didn't think you would appreciate a visit at such an early hour. I know you are not overly fond of the morning."_

 _Hawke chuckled. "Thank you for that. Would you like a drink?"_

 _He shook his head. "I cannot stay long. There are still things to prepare. But, I did not want to go without seeing you." He took a long step toward her. "You've been a true friend to me these past six years, Hawke. I want to thank you for that."_

 _"You don't have to thank me," she said. "It's been an honor knowing you."_

 _"And you."_

 _She watched him rub the back of his neck. It was, perhaps, the first time she had seen him searching for what to say next. Their conversations had always been easy and open._

 _"Are you going to be all right?" she asked. "In Starkhaven, I mean. Will you be happy as prince?"_

 _"I don't know," he replied. "I haven't the slightest idea what I'm doing. My brother was raised to rule, not me."_

 _Hawke reached for his shoulder and squeezed it. "You'll be a good prince, Sebastian. I have faith in that."_

 _He laid his hand over hers. "That means a great deal to me, Hawke. You…" He looked down for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I'll always remember our time together fondly. I hope that someday you'll come to Starkhaven."_

 _"I'd like that," she said. "Good luck, Sebastian. If you need anything, you know where to find me."_

 _"Goodbye, Hawke. And thank you." Taking her hand in his, he raised her knuckles to his lips._

She had not seen him again until the day she arrived outside the palace as his betrothed. Now, she saw him each morning when she woke up beside him.

As she had hoped after the night of the harvest festival, they had begun spending their nights together; though they had left her bed in favor of his. Her clothes remained in her own chambers and she always went there to dress, but her nights and mornings were spent nestled against Sebastian.

She had learned quickly that once awoken, his desire burned hot. On the first few nights they spent together, they had made love no less than three times. And it was still often that she woke to his lips on her neck and his hand pressed to her breast. Though she had never been one to make love in the early morning—she had rarely spent the whole night with her lovers in Kirkwall—she had discovered that she enjoyed it immensely.

Their sharing a bed had not escaped the notice of the household. Once, when Hawke had returned briefly to her room to change from a gown to her breeches, she had overheard a conversation between two maids who were working in Sebastian's chamber. They were changing the linens on his bed.

"Hers has been undisturbed for weeks now," said one of the maids. "She hasn't spent a night in her own bed since the harvest."

"And why would she?" asked the other. "I wouldn't sleep alone if my husband gave me the kind of pleasure he must give her. Haven't you passed through the halls at night? The way she cries out to him, and he to her…there's no ruse there. No mistaking that they want each other."

Hawke had grinned. It was true that neither she nor Sebastian were particularly quiet when they were abed. She loved the sounds he made, the way he growled her name as he buried himself inside her. Even thinking about it as she waited for the audience chamber to clear made her spine tingle.

When the last of the nobles had left the hall and the doors had been closed behind them, Hawke got stiffly to her feet, glad to stretch her body after sitting still for several hours.

"Tired?" asked Sebastian, smiling up at her.

"A little," she replied. "I didn't expect to hear so many today."

He let his head fall back. "Nor did I. I had hoped it would be a brief audience."

"Oh?" said Hawke, cocking a brow.

"I have plans for us this afternoon." Reaching up, he took her hand and tugged her toward him. She laughed as he drew her into his lap. He grasped her waist with one hand while the other went to her cheek to guide her down to his lips. She met them happily as she leaned against his chest.

She had grown accustomed to his taste in the past weeks. She had memorized the contours of his mouth, the feel of his tongue. He kissed her often now, and well: brief and chaste when he was happy or they were in company, but long and deep when he intended more.

For a moment, she considered what it might be like to settle herself astride him and let him take her in the prince's seat. There was no one about to see them, and anyone who might hear would know not to disturb them. The idea made the blood in her stomach drop between her legs, but she knew that in all likelihood he would never allow it. Though she had discovered just how passionate he could be, she doubted that he would be willing to lie with her anywhere but in the privacy of their bedchamber.

She had been with men outside of their beds before, though not in many years. Her first time had been spent in a barn in Lothering in the company of the blacksmith's son. She had been with a fellow solider in Cailin's army under the light of a full moon a few days before they had fought at Ostagar. She had never wholly understood the thrill that came with the risk of being caught in the act, but had simply lain down in the open out of necessity. Yet, sitting across Sebastian in the empty audience chamber was undeniably enticing.

Before she could make any move toward it, though, he broke the kiss. From his expression, Hawke could see he had other things in mind than tumbling into bed.

"Would you like to ride out with the falconers today?" he asked.

"Falconers?" she said, cocking her head.

He nodded. "We've kept birds for as long as I can remember. My father was particularly fond of hunting with them. I thought you might enjoy it."

Curiosity peaked, Hawke agreed.

"Good," said Sebastian. "We'll have to go outside the city. I'll send word to the aviary and to the stables to have the horses saddled."

"I'll go dress," said Hawke. She went to get up, but Sebastian's grip on her waist tightened. "I thought we were meant to hurry. The audiences did take longer than you expected, no?"

"The falcons will keep for a while longer." He was smiling as he kissed her.

* * *

It was cool out when Hawke and Sebastian arrived in the courtyard of the royal stables. Several men and women, with horses' reins in their hands, were awaiting them. Hawke made her way over to a long-legged gelding whose chestnut coat was lightly dappled in the sunshine. She drew a peppermint treat from her pocket and offered it to the horse.

"You spoil him," said Sebastian, who was checking the length of his stirrups a few paces away. His mount was a rich blood bay with white stockings.

"He deserves it," Hawke said, patting the gelding's neck. "He puts up with me." Fyruss, as she had named him, was the first horse she had ridden since she was a child in Lothering. Even then she had not often been in the saddle. Fyruss was forgiving of her inexperience, and for that she always rewarded him.

Sebastian had been riding since boyhood. Though he had not been in the saddle in all the years he had lived in Kirkwall, it was not something one forgot how to do. Since he had returned to Starkhaven, he had taken it up again, and he had even managed to teach Hawke how to handle a horse. It didn't come naturally to her, but her legs had grown strong in the past months and she had steady, gentle hands on the reins.

"Soon we'll have you riding in the hunts," Sebastian had said to her after she had managed to keep her seat when Fyruss had sprung over a fallen log. He had told her of the mounted stag hunts that the Vaels held each year at midsummer. He claimed that he had been the one to bring down the stag on the last hunt he rode in before he was sent to Kirkwall. After seeing him shoot from horseback once before, Hawke believed him. Not a single arrow had missed its mark as his horse thundered across the paddock.

"I swore off hunting after what happened at Chateau Haine," she had replied. Sebastian had laughed. He had been with her when she had travelled to Orlais in order to help the elven assassin Tallis find what she had claimed was a jewel called the Heart of the Many.

It had turned out to be a bit more complicated than that—especially since Hawke's sister Bethany had turned up unexpectedly—but Hawke had been glad for Sebastian's company when it came to making small talk at the garden party following the hunt. He could carry on a pleasant conversation with anyone, she was certain. She had been more than happy to remain mostly silent, adding only a few things when Sebastian gave her the cues.

Once she was mounted on Fyruss's back, she settled her feet in the stirrups and gathered the reins.

Sebastian, guiding his horse up next to her, smiled. "Ready?"

Tapping her gelding's sides with her heels, she set him off at a trot.

Starkhaven was a large city, nearly twice the size of Kirkwall, and it took quite some time to ride through the Royal Quarter to its southern edge. When the road did widen, Sebastian set a faster pace. Hawke grinned when the wind blew through her hair as they cantered across the moor. They rode south and east up toward the hills that overlooked Starkhaven.

Most of the land that surrounded the city had been cleared of the trees that had once stood in vast forests there so that the fields could be planted. Nearly all of Thedas's grain came from the Free Marches, especially from the farms along the lush banks of the Minanter River. Though Lothering had been a town bordered by fields, Hawke had never seen such rolling, open spaces before she came to Starkhaven. The wide meadows made for good riding and afforded beautiful views of the river valley.

She and Sebastian had just crested a hill when they drew their horses to a halt. A small pavilion had been erected a few paces ahead, its peaked top crowned with a banner bearing the Vael heraldry. A tall woman in plain leathers and a red wool shirt stood beside it. On her arm was a black and brown speckled bird with a sharp, curved beak and fierce talons that dug into the thick hide of her gauntlet. As Hawke and Sebastian approached, she sent it off into the air.

"Your highness," she said, inclining her head. Her gray hair was plaited down her back.

"Hello, Rosaline," said Sebastian as he dismounted. As he strode up to her, he gestured for Hawke to join him. "Marian, may I present Rosaline Fraser, royal falconer."

"It's my honor, princess," the falconer said. "As I understand it, your surname was once Hawke."

"It was," she said.

"Then I have just the partner for you in today's hunt." She waved to a lanky young man with bright blond hair. He carried a bird with black wings tipped with red and white. It wore a black cap over its head and thin leather straps adorned with bells around its legs.

"This is Donnellen," said Rosaline as she moved the bird onto her own arm. "She's a red Marcher hawk, and one of the finest I've ever flown."

The young man who had carried her out handed Hawke a leather gauntlet similar to the one he wore on his right hand. "You'll need this, highness." She slid it on.

"There's not much to falconry when it comes down to it," Rosaline said, stroking Donnellen's feathers. "Once a bird is trained, she'll fly with anyone willing to feed her." She reached into a pouch at her waist and drew out a piece of dried meat. The bird devoured it.

"Why is she hooded?" asked Hawke.

"To keep her calm while she's not hunting or in the mews," Rosaline replied. "If she sees something she likes while I'm riding with her, she'll likely take off after it. I only want to fly her when I'm ready. Or, when you're ready, highness." She smiled. "Do you want to take her?"

She took a step closer and held out her arm. Rosaline lifted the hood from the bird's head. Donnellen looked about, her sharp eyes taking in her surroundings.

"Here, highness," said the young man, appearing at her side again. He offered her a handful of dried meat. Taking a piece, she held it out to Donnellen. The hawk eyed her for a moment before crossing from Rosaline's arm to hers. The bells on her feet jingled as she walked.

"Sending her off is simple enough," Rosaline said. "She's free of the jesses, so you've only to give her a little lift with your arm."

Hawke raised her hand a bit, but the bird didn't move. Uncertain, she looked over at Rosaline.

"Quick and decisive, highness," she said, pantomiming the gesture.

Taking a breath, Hawke moved her arm swiftly up, giving Donnellen a push. In a flurry of feathers, the bird rose up into the air. The beating of her wings ruffled Hawke's short hair.

"Well done," said Sebastian, who stood a few paces back from her. Rosaline's apprentice was handing him a bird of his own. It was larger than Donnellen and mostly black.

"That's a true falcon," Rosaline said to Hawke when she caught her looking. "You can fly him as well, if you like, though if I were to choose, it would be Donnellen on my arm."

Sebastian lifted a brow. "You gave her the better bird?"

Rosaline smiled. "I'm partial to hawks, highness."

"As am I," he said, smiling.

Hawke felt warmth in her cheeks as she met his gaze. There was admiration in his expression—it was no secret that he thought her beautiful—but also a fondness that she had only just begun to recognize. Sometimes she would catch him smiling absently as he looked at her, his eyes bright and crinkling at the edges. Once, when she had grinned back at him, he had winked before turning back to his book. Hawke had felt a sudden rush of delight.

In the month since the harvest, she had discovered a jovial side of her husband that she had not seen before. Brother Sebastian had been somewhat somber in attitude, and Prince Vael conducted himself with the utmost dignity, but when they were alone, he laughed and teased her. He recounted stories of his misadventures as a boy without blushing or looking abashed. He told jokes at the expense of some of the nobles at court and even sang ribald tavern songs at her request.

There was comfort and pleasure in his company that she rarely enjoyed with anyone else. When they conversed, they spoke to each other without pretense or undue formality. When they had run out of things to say, they were content simply to be with one another. There were days when they would sit in the library and he would read aloud to her. On others, she would lie in the palace gardens, brushing her fingers over his hair as he rested his head in her lap.

They were not always idle and solitary, of course. More often than not, in fact, they were in the company of others, whether they were hearing audiences or entertaining friends from among the nobility. Even when they rode, they were attended by guards and grooms.

Hawke had found it stifling at first, having been accustomed to the quiet of her estate in Kirkwall, but she had grown used to it. Sometimes it rankled Sebastian as well; he had always enjoyed the solitude a life of contemplation had afforded him. He rarely complained of it, but Hawke could hear the strain in his voice and the see the tension in his shoulders when his patience was growing thin.

When he truly wished to be alone, he would go to pray in the small chapel in gardens. Starkhaven's Grand Chantry was near the palace, but when the prince and princess appeared there, they were always watched. The chapel afforded the royal family a private place to commune with the Maker. When Sebastian sought refuge there, he was left in peace, especially by Hawke. She had no desire to intrude upon every part of his life.

"Your highness," said Rosaline, drawing Hawke's attention back to the field. "Watch for Donnellen now. She's seen something."

Hawke turned her eyes to the bird as she circled. She drifted up with the gusts of warm wind, and then suddenly, she folded her wings and dropped toward the ground like a stone. She disappeared into the long grass.

"Is she…" Hawke began. Before she could say more, though, she saw the bird rising up again. In her talons she held a limp rabbit. Hawke grinned.

As Donellen soared back over, Rosaline held up a woven basket. The hawk dropped the rabbit directly into it before circling back. Hawke held out her arm, and the bird swooped back down onto it. She gave the falcon another bit of meat.

"She's wonderful," said Hawke, stroking her feathers. Donnellen preened, shaking herself out.

"Send her out again, highness," said Rosaline, "and you'll have enough meat for a fine rabbit stew tonight."

"Let's see what your falcon can do first," she said to Sebastian. Lifting his arm, he sent the bird off into the sky.

They flew the raptors for most of the afternoon. By the time the sun was beginning to descend into the western half of the sky, Rosaline's basket was filled with rabbits and a few smaller birds.

"We'd best be getting back to the mews, highness," the falconer said after Donnellen returned a last time. "The birds have fine eyesight in the day, but they're not as keen at night as owls."

Hawke ran the fingers of her bare hand over the bird's feathers once more. "I'd like to fly her again sometime," she said to Rosaline.

"She's yours now, princess. You may take her out anytime you like."

Hawke smiled as she returned Donnellen to her perch and placed the hood over her eyes. When she turned, she found Sebastian watching her. Her smile broadening, she went to him and kissed him lightly. "Thank you for this. I loved it."

He held out his hand to her. "Come. I want to show you something."

Threading her fingers through his, Hawke followed him up a small hill and around a copse of young trees a good thirty paces from where the falconers were packing their equipment. As they reached the crest of the hill, Sebastian stopped and looked down to the valley below.

Hawke was struck by the beauty of the red gold sun reflecting off the broad Minanter as it wound its way through Starkhaven. Barges and small skiffs dotted the water, floating sluggishly beneath the city's bridges. She could make out the sprawling palace in the Royal Quarter and recognized the bustling docks in the Ships Quarter.

The evening cargo would be offloaded as the sun descended. By morning the silks from Antiva, spices from Rivain, and leather from the Anderfels would be in the stalls and shops in the Merchants Quarter. Copper and iron from Nevarra and wood from Ferelden would go to the artisans in the Guilds Quarter to be fashioned into blades and furniture. Grains from the farms in the fertile valley would be shoveled into ships' holds, bound for Seheron and Orlais. Commerce in Starkhaven never ceased.

"My eldest brother brought me here once," said Sebastian. "We weren't often together, but he had asked me to join him that day. He told me how he often rode out to this place alone so that he could see all that he would someday rule.

"I hated him for bringing me because I thought he meant to gloat over what he would have that I never would. I don't think that was his intention, but I was too blinded by my own desire to be prince to see that. He loved Starkhaven in a way I never did as a boy."

"But now you do," said Hawke.

He nodded. "I thought I would feel like a stranger when I returned, but there was a sense of homecoming. The streets, the people…they were familiar to me even though I had not set foot here since I was sixteen."

Hawke looked up at him. His profile was lit from behind by the setting sun as he looked out over his city.

"I grew to love Kirkwall in the years that I lived there," he said, "but I never belonged. Not outside the Chantry anyway. Here, I do."

"I'd like to see more of the city," said Hawke. "I miss wandering around like I used to in Kirkwall. I knew every corner of it. I'd like to get to know Starkhaven just as well."

Sebastian smiled. "It will take time."

"Then we'd better get to it."

"Would you like to go tomorrow? We can start with the Royal Quarter."

Hawke chewed her cheek. "I'd rather go across the river first. I spend enough time in the company of the nobles at the palace. I'd like to get to know the rest of the people, the common people. They have as much right to know their prince and princess as the nobles do."

"Then we'll go to the market tomorrow."

"I would like that," said Hawke with a smile.

Returning it, Sebastian bent his head to kiss her. She put her arms around his waist, bringing herself closer to him. He stroked her back.

"You looked beautiful with that bird on your arm," he said as he pressed his lips to her jaw. She tipped her head to the side, allowing him better access to the tender skin of her neck. "Did you enjoy the hunting?"

"Very much," she said. "I'm looking forward to that rabbit stew. I haven't had it in years."

"Mm," Sebastian hummed against her ear. "Are you in a hurry to get back, then?"

She felt a pleasant heat in her belly as he moved his hands up along her sides. "Not particularly."

Laying his fingers on her cheek, Sebastian kissed her mouth again. He nipped at her lower lip until she opened for him. Her heart jumped in response, the wanting from earlier that day hastily returning. She worked her arms up around his neck. The kiss went on for a while longer, until Hawke could feel the familiar ache of desire between her legs. Now she would be in a hurry to get back to the palace. She wanted to get him on his back as soon as she could manage.

Her thoughts were nearly too wound up in planning exactly how she would put him through his paces that night to notice him move his hand between them. She started, her eyes opening wide, when he tugged at the laces of her breeches. Pulling back, she met his gaze. His blue eyes were dark.

"I want to have you, Marian," he said as he continued to work the knots in her laces.

"Here?" she asked. Though they were out of sight of the falconers, they were not far enough away not to be heard if they raised their voices.

Moving his hand away, he pushed his hips against her so that she could feel him. "Here."

Fire shot through Hawke's veins. Hurriedly, she replaced his fingers at her laces with her own. He kissed her again, backing them toward the stand of trees. By the time they reached they it, she had undone her breeches and was working them over her hips. The evening air was cool on her bare skin when she pushed the wool down around her ankles.

Sebastian was working his own laces loose as he looked her over hungrily. Turning, Hawke grasped a sapling for balance and offered herself to him. He brushed his palms up the backs of her thighs and over her buttocks. He gave one cheek a light slap. Hawke threw him an open-mouthed smile over her shoulder.

"Maker," she heard him say as he brushed his fingers between her legs. "You're ready so quickly."

"I've needed this all afternoon," she said.

"Needed?" he asked as he pushed a finger inside her.

She bit back a groan. "We haven't been together yet today. I could have waited until tonight, but…"

He gripped her hip hard with one hand. "I couldn't." Taking hold of his cock, he slid it against her, slickening the length. Hawke said his name as he sheathed himself inside her.

It was not the first time he had had her from behind, of course, but they had never been standing before. Hawke found that she liked it even more than when they knelt on the bed.

He moved slowly at first, letting her feel all of him, but at her softly spoken, "Harder," he thrust into her fast and deep. Hawke grasped the sapling tighter as she rose up onto her toes to bring herself closer to him. The sounds of skin meeting skin were accompanied by his quiet noises of pleasure.

Drawing her two middle fingers into her mouth, Hawke wet them and put them between her legs. She worked with light strokes that matched the pace of Sebastian's thrusts. It wasn't long before she felt the coil of sensation tightening in her lower belly.

"Holy Andraste," she gasped as she went over the edge. Sebastian gave a strangled groan as her body tightened around him. He thrust once more before withdrawing to spill himself on the ground at his feet.

Though her thoughts were still muddled with desire, she turned a raised a brow at him. He had never pulled away from her before.

He was still slightly out of breath as he said, "You shouldn't have to ride home in a mess."

"Oh," she said, not having considered that in the moment. Standing, she laughed. "Thank you."

He smiled as he tugged his breeches back up. Hawke did the same, quickly lacing them again.

"We should go," she said, taking his hand. "We're losing the light."

He pulled her to him once more, landing a solid kiss on her lips. She grinned as they made their way back down to where their horses waited.

* * *

His fingers were fisted tight in her hair, the short nails scratching her scalp. She could feel his deep, ragged breathing from where her left hand rested on his stomach. She was stroking him with her right, holding tight what her mouth could not reach. The muscles of his legs were taut and trembling around her as she knelt between them.

"Maker, Marian," he said. His voice was still husky from sleep. Hawke took him deeper, making him groan.

She had woken to the midmorning bells ringing from the Chantry. She and Sebastian usually rose long before them, but they had be up late into the night playing chess after they had returned from falconing. They had shared two bottles of wine, which made them both clumsy and foolish, but tremendously merry.

He beat her twice at chess, but she had exacted her revenge by tickling him mercilessly. Much to her amusement, she had discovered that he was far more ticklish than she was, especially on his ribs. He could easily have overpowered her to keep her from it, but he never had. It made her laugh and inevitably led them into each other's arms, so he tolerated it.

Though she had had him before they fell asleep, she awoke with the ache of desire in her belly. Slipping down beneath the coverlet, she had roused him by taking his cock in her mouth. He had sleepily enjoyed her attentions for a time, but as his somnolence faded, he tossed the covers aside so that he could watch her. She had grinned up at him, running her tongue up his length.

She began to move faster as he held her head, knowing he was nearing his end. His hips bucked up, pushing him back into her throat. She hummed as she took him in. It put him over the edge. She swallowed what he gave her, the taste now familiar.

"Good morning, wife," he said after he had caught his breath.

Hawke slid up beside him and kissed the tip of his nose. "Good morning, husband."

Sebastian gathered her to him, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "You're very good to me."

"As you were to me last night," she said. She nuzzled the hollow of his throat, enjoying the warm, musky scent of him.

"I like the taste of you," he said, trailing the tips of his fingers along her hip and down toward the juncture of her thighs. "In fact…"

"Mm. Later. I want to see the city today."

"Then come." Holding her to him, he rolled them toward the edge of the bed. As he got to his feet, he raised his arms and stretched.

Hawke leaned back on her hands and watched him. He was beautifully made from head to foot: lean, but well-formed. She could see the subtle movement of the muscles beneath his skin. The fear of immodesty he had had when they first married was gone. For that she was grateful. She loved looking at him, learning the contours of his body.

Rising, she went to him and ran the palms of her hands up from his waist to his chest. "You are a fine man, Sebastian Vael," she said.

"And you are lovely, Marian Vael," he said, tracing her jaw. "Especially with your hair mussed from my fingers."

She made a face at him and he laughed.

"It was meant as a compliment," he whispered in her ear. "It makes me want to muss it further." Grasping his buttocks, he pressed her against him.

She cocked a brow when she felt him hardening.

"Do you want me?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she replied as she pulled him back to the bed.

* * *

The sun was high in the afternoon sky when they ventured out from the palace and into the city. They had chosen to leave their horses behind and walk from the Royal Quarter to the Merchants Quarter. Hawke had forgone her heavy gowns, donning instead a pair of breeches over which she had laced a skirted bodice. The linen shirt she wore beneath it was perhaps a bit light for the autumn weather, but it was far warmer in the Free Marches during Firstfall than it was in Ferelden. Sebastian, too, was dressed for comfort and seemed content to keep a leisurely pace as they passed through Starkhaven.

They were accompanied by five guards: four men and a young woman. Sebastian had greeted each of them warmly, asking their names and how long they had been in the guard. Hawke had spoken with them about where they had grown up in the city. Most were bargemen's sons who had spent their youth on the wharfs of the Ships Quarter, but Leila, the woman, was the youngest of seven daughters of a seamstress.

"My mum's shop is just down the way," she said, pointing to a narrow street packed with merchants' stalls.

"Shall we stop in?" asked Hawke. "I've been meaning to commission a new gown for the First Day feast."

Leila's eyes widened. "From our shop, your highness? You do us great honor."

Hawke smiled and gestured for her to lead the way.

The lanes were narrower and more crowded in the Merchants Quarter than in other parts of the city. The bustle of traders peddling their wares and the din of conversation reminded Hawke very much of the teeming alleys and markets of Lowtown. The scent of the sea was absent, however. The Minanter did not have the same salty smell that the Waking Sea did.

There will still days when Hawke missed Kirkwall, but in the months since she had arrived in Starkhaven, she had begun to grow fond of it. The people—both noble and common—had welcomed her amiably, and though they were not Varric and Aveline, Merrill and Fenris, or Isabela and Anders, she had found friends among them.

Glancing at Sebastian as they walked together, she smiled. He, too, had been one of her dearest friends. Yet, in the past month she had seen more of his true nature than she had in the six years she had known him as a brother of the faith. Ruling suited him, and Hawke was glad to see him happy.

He returned her smile when he saw her looking at him. Reaching down, he took her hand. As their fingers entwined, she felt her chest tighten. She was fond of Starkhaven for certain, but she knew full well that most of her affection for the city came because Sebastian was in it.

* * *

Guardsman Leila's mother, Mistress Agatha, was quite flustered as she took Hawke's measurements, having never imagined that the prince and princess would grace her shop with their presence. However, she knew what she was about and took them with practiced competence. Sebastian stood patiently in the corner of the shop, watching the proceedings with his arms crossed over his chest.

"There, your highness," said the seamstress to Hawke, hanging the length of ribbon she had used to take the measurements around her neck. "I'll have the gown for you in a fortnight's time."

"There's no hurry," Hawke said as she rubbed her upper arms. They were tired from being held out for so long. "First Day isn't for nearly two months."

"Perhaps not," said Sebastian, "but the sooner you dress is finished, the sooner she can make my jacket to match."

Agatha pressed a hand to her breast. "Maker bless me. You wish me to sew your First Day doublet as well, your highness?"

He smiled. "I do indeed, mistress. Shall I take up my wife's place so that I can be measured?"

"If it please you, highness," she said, cutting another length of ribbon and brandishing the chalk to mark it with.

Hawke stepped aside to allow Sebastian to move into the center of the shop. He spread his arms wide so that Agatha could move around him with her ribbon.

"I think blue velvet slashed with white will do for the jacket, your highness," she said. "Satin for the princess, but velvet for you."

"That would be very fine, mistress," he said.

Agatha described the cut of the garments as she worked. Her designs, while simpler than those of the court tailors, were elegant. Hawke would be proud to wear the gown on First Day, which marked the beginning of the new year.

Sebastian had told her that the feast was less extravagant than that held on the harvest, as most courtiers spent the day visiting with their own families. First Day was a celebration of kinship, whether among family or friends. This would be the first that Hawke spent without the company of her friends in Kirkwall.

"What's are you thinking of, Marian?" asked Sebastian, drawing her gaze to him.

"Old friends," she replied.

"Varric and the others?"

She nodded.

"We spoke not so long ago about inviting them here," he said. "Why don't they come for First Day?"

"I'd like that," she said.

"Then it's settled. Write to them when we return to the palace tonight."

Hawke crossed the distance between them and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. "Thank you, Sebastian."

He smiled and touched her cheek. Heat blossomed under his fingers, warming her face and making her head feel light. As she studied his blue eyes, the room around them seemed to fade until all the sounds and colors were muted. Only he remained in focus, the lines of his face sharp and handsome. He was perfect still save for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Your highness?" The voice was muffled, but loud enough to bring Hawke's attention back to the seamstress's shop. She took a slow step back from Sebastian.

His hand fell to his side and he turned to Agatha, who had spoken. "Yes, mistress. I'm listening."

"I've all the measurements I need."

"Very well," he said. "Thank you."

She curtseyed. "The honor was mine, highness."

Shaking her head slightly to clear it, Hawke took five gold sovereigns from the purse at her waist and dropped them into Agatha's hand. "An advance."

The seamstress thanked her and bid them good day. Sebastian took Hawke's elbow and guided her toward the door. As they stepped out into the sunshine, she caught the scent of cooking meat. Her stomach rumbled.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "Something smells incredible."

"Very," Sebastian replied.

They made their way over to a stall from which a cloud of fragrant smoke was rising. The proprietor, a willowy man with a long beard, was roasting hunks of meat over a fire.

"Venison," said Sebastian. "I used to eat this often on my way back from the tavern. As a boy."

"It looks delicious," said Hawke. She offered a copper to the bearded man. He took it and gave her a toothless smile. From his cart he drew a narrow, pointed bit of wood. He skewered a sizable chunk of meat and offered it to her. Grinning, she took a bite. Fragrant grease ran down her chin as the venison melted in her mouth.

"Maker, that's wonderful," she said once she had swallowed.

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Sebastian wiped her chin, chuckling. She took it from him and offered him the meat. He bit into it, closing his eyes as he chewed.

"Just as good as I remembered," he said. When Hawke reached out to take it back, he kept it just out of reach. She glared at him, but then simply paid for another. She devoured it unabashedly as they continued down the street.

"I raced my horse down here once," said Sebastian. "Well, more than once."

"You did?" Hawke asked, eyes wide. "How could you have made it through here at a trot let alone a full gallop?"

"You'd be surprised how quickly people will get out of the way when they hear the clatter of hoofbeats," he replied.

She raised a brow. "Well, now you're going to have to tell me."

"It's not a terribly long tale. I was fourteen or fifteen, I think. My father had bought me a new hunting horse for my birthday. A mare that I called Verity. She had the sweetest temper of any horse in the stables, but, oh, could she run. I bet fifty gold sovereigns on her against some of the finest stallions in Starkhaven."

"And of course you won."

"I did. Made a fair profit, too." He shook his head. "What a waste of gold. What the Chantry could have done with that coin…"

"Perhaps you should make a donation in Verity's name, then," Hawke said. "Perhaps to the Kirkwall Chantry fund."

He smiled. "Perhaps I will."

"I heard from Bran that they've started to rebuild it," she said. "It'll be years before it's finished, though."

"It will," said Sebastian, "but when it's complete we'll have to go there."

"Do you miss it?" she asked, threading her arm through his. "The Chantry, I mean."

"Yes, but I cannot say that I regret leaving. Had I remained in the brotherhood, I wouldn't be here." He blinked down at her. "And I wouldn't have you."

"Of course you would," she said. "We'd still be friends."

His brows knit. "We would, yes."

"But you prefer us as we are," she said.

"I do."

Hawke squeezed his forearm. "As do I."


End file.
